Love Lost
by Eccia
Summary: It's been a few years and a lot has changed. Logan is a writer who turns to the bottle a little more than anyone should. Veronica is a starving artist in an abusive relationship. Will they be able to free each other from their demons?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey all. So, I know I said it would only be a few weeks before I got this published. Apparently I meant a few months. I am so sorry for the wait. I sincerely hope it was worth it. As I have mentioned before, this story is a bit darker than anything I've ever written. Most chapters will be pretty mild, but overall, I'm hoping I have a nice mix of noir and fluffiness. So we shall see. Also, a huge thank you to my betas. Without them, this wouldn't be on your screens today. Nor would you want to read it.

Warning for manufactured violent scenes, alcohol use and hallucinations.

Enjoy!

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Chapter One

The photograph caught his eye five years ago at an art show. Upon first glance, it appeared to be a simple landscape of a lake surrounded by lush, vibrant foliage. The sky was a bright blue, serving as a nice contrast to the fresh green leaves of the trees brought on by spring. A waterfall, the source of the lake, was the backdrop to the scene, providing a light mist and refracting the sun's rays. It made the whole picture look magical.

Following the natural motion of the picture, one's eye was drawn to the bottom left corner revealing a speck of white color. It almost looked like the crash of a rapid against a rock poking through the surface of the clear lake. That would not be the case. It wasn't a rapid. It was the body of a young blonde in a white dress, partially covered with rocks, pinning her to the bottom of the lake.

While normal people would be disgusted upon such a revelation about such an otherwise beautiful photograph, he was drawn to it. He moved along the wall, taking in the others from the collection. They were all photos of beautiful landscapes with murdered young girls hidden in plain sight.

A redhead in a long red dress, lying in a field of poppies. Her skull bashed in, green eyes still open, blank. The blood covered her forehead, making it hard to spot her amongst the flowers, but once she was, she was all that could be seen.

A brunette hanging by a rope in a winter forest. With only a cursory glance, her body resembled a tree. Then, looking closer, the viewer could almost see her swaying back and forth in the cold, winter wind. Her head fell to the side, neck snapped. The only contrast to the awful scene was a bright red cardinal, sitting on a tree in the foreground.

That night, he ended up purchasing the first picture on a whim. Earlier that day he had gotten the first check from his first published novel. It seemed fitting, considering the novel was about a young blonde who had single-handedly solved the brutal murder of her best friend. Granted, the friend wasn't drowned in the bottom of a lake, but this photo spoke to him more than the others.

He hung it on the wall in his den above the couch. He smiled politely when guests commented how the greens of the leaves brightened the room, never noticing the girl at the bottom of the lake.

"_What do you think, Britt?" he asked his girlfriend as he stepped back from the frame, admiring it on the wall._

_She folded her arms, swirling the wine in her glass, "It's disturbed. Seriously, why did you buy that?"_

_He shrugged and poured himself a drink, "I don't know. I like it."_

"_**You're**__ disturbed," she added, taking a sip from her own drink, "Maybe you can hang a curtain in front of it. You can't seriously want people to stare at __**that**__ when they come over."_

"_I guarantee that most people won't notice, and those that do won't say anything. That's the point," he chuckled, putting his arm around her waist as they both stared at it._

_She moved from his embrace, taking a step back, looking away from him, away from the picture. Brittney clenched and unclenched her hands at her sides, taking a deep breath, and then another. With a slight shake of her head, she appeared to be trying to convince herself of something. Finally, she opened her mouth, attempting to remain calm, but the irritation in her voice betrayed her, "I think we should see other people."_

_His grip on his glass increased at her sudden confession, "Because of the photo? Really? Britt, come on." Was she really going to throw their relationship down the drain over this? He had put up with far worse from her. _

"_Yes!" she paused and thought for a moment, "Well, it certainly is part of it. It's gruesome. How can you tolerate sitting in here and staring at it," she demanded, putting her glass down on the table. "It is a dead girl lying at the bottom of a lake."_

_He threw his hands in the air, "A dead girl that you didn't notice until I pointed her out to you."_

"_And now that I see her, I'm not comfortable with this hanging here," she shot back and moved towards the door. "Honestly, I can't believe you're choosing the picture over me. I hope that you will be very __**satisfied**__ with your decision." She walked out of the den and a few seconds later he heard the front door slam._

_He shook his head, sighing. It wasn't even real. She was some model paid to lay at the bottom of a lake in a white dress so, he paused mid thought to look at the artist's name, Venus Noir, could take the picture._

Now he found himself staring at the girl again. His deadline was approaching; the blank document on the computer mocked him and the dead girl called out to him. With a sigh, he stood and refilled his glass with the best scotch from the sidebar. It was going to be a long night.

Two glasses of scotch later, the effects of the alcohol finally started to kick in and he brought his fingers to the keyboard, looking again to the girl in the photo.

"What happened to me?" she asked. He blinked, forgetting that he had taken something earlier that evening to relax him.

"You're not real," he insisted, getting up to refill his glass again.

The girl was now in his den, dripping lake water on his carpet, "I wouldn't do that if I were you," she said.

He shrugged and filled his glass anyway. "Well, I guess it's a good thing that you're not me then," he responded and returned to his chair.

"How did I die?" she asked him again.

He ran a hand through his hair as he set down his glass and looked her up and down, "Did you drown?"

"You might think so," she chuckled, waving her soaked arms around for emphasis, "but where's the fun in that?"

Letting the few remaining fibers of his sanity go, he continued to converse with the girl from the photo, "Were you murdered?" he asked.

"That sounds interesting," she said, continuing to look around the room, "How was I murdered? I haven't got a scratch on me." With a flair for the theatrics, she made a show of checking herself for injury and found nothing.

He took a seat on the couch, feeling a little light headed, "Strangled?" he asked. She shook her head. "Drowned?" he took another stab at the more obvious answer. Again, she slowly turned her head side to side. "Poison?" he threw out and her expression changed.

Hours passed as he chatted with the girl. He learned her name was Katarina. She was twenty years old when she entered the lake. In life, she was never a blonde, always a brunette. The hair dye was just a failed attempt by her murderer to conceal her identity.

He took in her clothing, and although he couldn't consider himself an expert in women's fashion, he could determine that her simple white dress was by no means modern. He noticed that she wasn't wearing shoes and that her toenails were painted with a pale blue, the same blue as the ribbon tied in her hair. That detail he had never noticed while she was in the photo.

"So… who killed me," she asked, eagerly, inching closer to him on the couch.

"Your brother?" he threw out, getting used to this guessing game.

"Why would he kill me? That doesn't make sense," she said, shaking her head wildly, "No, no, that won't do at all."

"Your boyfriend," he tried again.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she explained, smoothing her dress with her hands.

"Your girlfriend then," he stood and walked over, emptying the bottle of scotch into his glass.

Katarina followed him, "I think you've had enough."

"I'll stop drinking when you tell me who killed you," he declared before taking a large mouthful of the strong liquid.

He watched the panicked look spread across her face before she opened her mouth, "It was my father." She looked at his glass with pleading eyes. With a sigh, he chugged the remaining liquid before setting the glass down on the table. Or what he thought was the table. The crash that echoed throughout the room suggested otherwise.

The alcohol slowed his reaction time, he knew. As he turned around to face the sound, he felt a sharp pain shoot through his foot. Katarina pushed him down into the couch before grabbing another bottle of alcohol and a towel from the sidebar. She knelt in front of him, carefully removing the shard of glass from his foot before pouring the alcohol over it to kill any germs and wrapping it in the towel to stop the bleeding.

She turned him on his side as he fell over, in case he got sick during the night. This was the last thing he remembered before he passed out and she returned to the photo. Regretfully, he never asked her why her father had killed her but it was too late as sleep overtook him.

In the morning, as birds chirped outside the window, the sun cast lazy rays into the room, stirring him awake. Blinking, he looked towards the window and frowned. That was not helping his current hung-over state.

If the sun and the birds weren't enough, his dog, Dick, strolled into the room with a goofy grin and planted himself at his feet. Dick was aptly named after an old friend of his. Like Dick the human, Dick the dog had shaggy blonde hair, enjoyed spending time on the beach, wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, loyal to a fault and most importantly, didn't judge his drinking habits. He sat up and ran a hand over the thick fur on the dog's head, giving him the attention he desired. "Morning, Dick," he greeted warmly.

His attention was quickly torn away from the dog as his phone began to sing the most annoying tune known to man. In a quick effort to make it stop, he fished it from his pocket and answered the call without looking, "Hello?" he questioned, his voice raspy.

"Those chapters you e-mailed last night were amazing. Your best work yet. I've already sent them off to the editor. Keep this up and we're going to have another best-seller on our hands, maybe even a movie deal…" he recognized the voice of his manager and held the phone away from his ear. It was too early to be dealing with someone so chipper.

When what she'd said sunk in, Logan shot up. Chapters? What chapters? "What are you talking about?" he asked finally, looking around for a glass of water or an aspirin or something to help his head.

"You e-mailed me at like three a.m. Granted it was after your deadline, but they're worth it. The girl in the white dress, the lake, Katarina, you've really done it this time," his manager continued to explain the story.

Having heard enough, he ended the call and dropped his phone onto the floor, trying to piece together the events of last night. The girl had come out of the picture. Or had she? He had talked to her. Or maybe he was just writing?

He looked to his foot; still carefully wrapped in the towel. Could he have done that himself in his drunken state? Probably not. Had someone else been there? Katarina? He needed to talk to her again to find out the rest of her story.

What was the saying? Hair of the dog? Taking one last glance to be sure there wasn't a waiting glass of water, he reached over to the sidebar and pulled out one of the bottles.

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A/N: So, I'm hoping to be able to update every week, but encouragement does come in the form of your lovely words. So if you loved, hated, or somewhere in between(ed?) it, feel free to click the little button and share your thoughts. Feel free to pass around the marshmallows. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you all for the positive response to the first chapter. Your kind words are so inspiring to me to keep writing. I'm sure you are all dying to know what Veronica has gotten herself into, so here it is. As always, I want to thank my wonderful betas who have probably read these chapters more times than they would have liked to get it pretty close to perfection. Any other mistakes are mine. Without further ado, enjoy!

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Chapter 2

"_Well folks, after an unprecedented turnout for this special election to choose the new sheriff of Neptune, California, we're calling it. The numbers have been counted and boy was it close! We would like to be the first to congratulate Keith Mars on being elected sheriff!" the woman on news channel seven covering the election announced._

_The room erupted into cheers as the newly elected Sheriff Mars stood and gave a wave to his supporters, making his way over to the microphone for a quick speech. He paused and turned around, holding his arms out to his only daughter for a celebratory hug._

_A few reporters held their cameras at the ready, hoping to snap a good shot of the touching father/daughter moment for the front page of the news the next morning. Who didn't love a good family portrait?_

_Just before they embraced, the congratulatory cheers turned to horrified screams as shots rang out in the crowded room. Flashes went off as startled reporters took to the ground, clutching their cameras in terror. People ran in every direction; unsure of where the shots were actually fired from, or who their intended target was._

_She watched him fall in front of her and smiled. Her clumsy father must have tripped on a microphone wire lying across the stage. Then the shots registered and instinctively she threw herself to the floor._

_Turning her head carefully, she looked to her father next to her and noticed the red spots forming on the front of his shirt. What was that? __**Blood.**__ He had been shot. Her father had been shot. With her body on autopilot, she quickly pulled herself over to him and began applying pressure to his wounds, her focus only of saving his life._

_Out of nowhere, she heard a scream._

She shot up in bed, blinking at the darkness around her and realized the scream was her own. She was having a nightmare. Noticing the distinct lack of person next to her, she knew her nightmare had woken him up.

With a sigh, she threw off her heavy blanket and got out of bed. She could hear his footsteps in the small kitchenette and reached for her robe before following the sound. He wasn't going to be happy, she knew. He was never happy when she disrupted his sleep.

"Hey," she said, tightening the robe around her waist and leaning against the doorframe.

He looked up from the pot he was stirring on the stove before turning the heat off and pouring the liquid into a mug and handing it to her, "Should help with your throat," he paused, catching her eyes again, "And the dreams." He watched her expectantly, waiting for her to drink.

It smelled awful and she made a face before bringing the mug to her lips, taking a large sip. His "herbal tea" always tasted as bad as it smelled. The lukewarm liquid burned her throat as it went down and made her eyes water. So much for throat soothing. Once the sip was down, she swallowed again, a desperate attempt to keep it down. Despite the horridness of the liquid she knew she would start feeling better soon. Or so she hoped. Who knew what he actually put in that mug?

"Do you want to go back to bed?" Veronica asked softly, handing him the mug back, still mostly full.

He downed the rest of the liquid in the mug and chased it with a shot. "Let's go," he said, putting his arm tightly around her waist, leading her to the bedroom, "but we'll have to make it quick. I have a big morning: starting a new photo shoot."

She followed him to the bedroom, knowing that his tea had begun to kick in because his statement didn't even bother her. Of course she knew he had a big morning. _She_ had a big morning. She was the freaking photographer after all. That never mattered. She was a tool that he used to display his art to the world. It had always been that way.

Adrian pulled her back into the bed and began removing her robe, assaulting her lips with his own. From the taste, she knew that was not the only shot he had had this evening, which meant he was up long before her nightmare had began. No one could ever say Adrian was not a man of opportunity. As he continued their "lovemaking", she wished she had taken a larger sip of his tea. It really was the only thing that made it tolerable. He was terrible in bed; most of the time she resorted to lying on her back, counting the cracks in the ceiling. It was comforting to note that only three new ones had formed since they moved in.

When he was finished, she waited for him to pass out before pushing him off of her and again pulling the robe around her body. Glancing back over her shoulder, she moved to the corner of the room and reached up, pulling the cover off of the air vent. Confident he had passed out; she refocused her attention on the air vent, pulling from it her old cell phone before replacing the cover. It's not like the air conditioning actually functioned. That would be asking too much. All of these years and this is where they ended up: a cheap apartment in South America, where drugs were not only legal but encouraged.

She walked into the kitchen again, grabbing the bottle from which Adrian had been pouring from not even two hours ago and made her way to the balcony. Looking out at the impoverished street below, she took a long swig straight from the bottle. The bitter taste no longer affected her; almost like the bitterness of the life she had built for herself.

Veronica flipped the phone over in her hands before sliding it open, bringing it to life. Looking back at her was a pair of smiling faces, a girl she used to know and her father, on vacation in New York City. A few finger swipes later, she was pressing the phone to her ear as she took another mouthful from the bottle.

"_First saved message: Hey sweetie, just calling to tell you that I love you. Win or lose tonight, we're going to celebrate. Who's your daddy?" _No one. Not anymore.

Bottle. Mouth. Drink. Repeat.

"_Next saved message: Veronica, it's Logan. Listen, I know these last few days have been rough for you, but you can't shut everyone out of your life forever. I'm worried about you. Please, just open the door. I know you're in there…Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me." _If only he could see her now…

Bottle. Mouth. Drink. Repeat.

"_Next saved message…"_

The alcohol, however, wasn't providing the oblivion she needed. It rarely did anymore. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the needle, laughing silently at the thought of those anti-drug commercials in elementary school. If only they knew how much fun this was, surely they would be telling a much different story.

With practiced ease, she injected the needle into her arm and pushed the plunger before relaxing into the metal chair next to the table. Setting the used needle aside, she again picked up the bottle and finished its contents. All she needed to do now was sit and wait while the drugs worked their way through her system. Soon she would be a million miles away.

"Get up," he grumbled, not bothering to cross the threshold onto the balcony, "I want eggs."

Slowly Veronica opened her eyes and realized that she must have fallen asleep outside, "Get them yourself," she mumbled under her breath, standing and stretching. Her head was pounding and neither the early morning sunlight nor his requests were helping.

"What did you say?" he asked, taking a step closer to her. Instinctively, she took a step back and felt the railing of the balcony behind her. She looked past him as his continued his rant, "Have you forgotten everything that I've done for you? I made you who you are. Without me, you'd still be some poor, lost, homeless girl wandering the streets of Wilmington. I took you in, helped you with your pathetic art, made you a household name. The least you could do to repay that favor is to go in that kitchen and cook me some damn eggs!" He shook his head at her before he stormed off to the bedroom, "And clean yourself up while you're at it. You look like shit and you wonder why I have trouble booking shoots for us. Maybe if you actually tried sometime…" the rest of his rant was lost as he disappeared into the room.

Looking down, she noticed her phone and let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, thankful that he didn't notice it sitting on the table. Quickly, she slipped it into the pocket of her robe before leaving the balcony. She carefully moved to the kitchen and noticed the dirty dishes from last night. Of course her _savior_ was above such a mortal task as doing the dishes. With a sigh, she reached for the handle of the pot, knowing it was going to be difficult to get clean. What _had_ he put into that drink last night?

She lifted the pot into the small sink and half-assed an attempt to wash it. Who really cared anymore if her kitchen was spotless? Once all of the dishes were done, she began making eggs, sunny side up, for a man with a not so sunny disposition. "Babe," she called as she set the plate with the eggs on the breakfast bar, "Your eggs are ready. Come and eat."

He opened the bedroom door with a little more force than necessary and walked to the kitchen. "I'm not hungry anymore. Let's just go," he said, not even looking at her as he made his way to the front door.

"I said let's go," he repeated when he reached the door, "Get your shit together and let's go. You don't want me to get a reputation for being late, do you? I don't need this. I have half a mind to fire you right now. You're not even that good… and you still look like ass."

Looking between the eggs and Adrian, she exhaled vigorously, and tossed the dishtowel on the counter next to the plate. Even if she could leave him, she had no place else to go. No parents, no friends, no money, just him. This was her life now and she accepted that.

She hung her head and walked off into the bedroom to try to make herself look somewhat presentable. She threw on the first articles of clothing she found: a dark, long sleeved shirt and an old, ripped pair of jeans. Quickly, she ran a brush through her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. Next, she added a little make-up to her face to cover the dark circles under her eyes and to make her hollow cheeks look rosy. She chose Listerine in favor of actually brushing her teeth and swished it around her mouth while putting her shoes on. Finally, she slipped her phone from her robe pocket and looked towards the door, making sure she wasn't being watched, as she replaced it in the vent.

"What's taking so long?" he yelled from the other room. She shook her head and took one last look in the mirror, knowing that was as good as it was going to get before grabbing her camera bag and joining him in the other room. She looked at him, tapping his foot at the door, ready to go. "I want to stop by the diner before we go, I want some eggs," he said as he opened the door. She looked back to the plate she had prepared for him earlier and said nothing as she followed him out. She could already tell it was going to be one of _those_ days.

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A/N: So there it is. Veronica's life. I love reviews, any thoughts you may have, just put them in the little box and hit the button. Thank you all!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So I really meant to get this up earlier today, but that clearly didn't happen. Anyway, thank you all for your wonderful reviews and taking the time to read this. I know many of you were upset with Veronica's current situation. Don't worry, all will be explained. Just not in this chapter. This is a Logan chapter. For the next couple of chapters, I will alternate between Logan and Veronica. So, Chapter Four will be a Veronica chapter. Also, super thanks to my wonderful betas. I know I would never be able to catch all of my mistakes on my own.

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A long week passed by slowly consisting of scrapped pages and binge drinking in a desperate attempt to have conversations with Katarina. Logan finally finished his novel, though he was certainly much worse for the wear. The sun was beginning to peek into the living room by the time he again passed out on the couch. Katarina was the last image he saw before allowing his heavy eyelids succumb to sleep; he could have sworn she was smiling.

"Mr. Echolls? Mr. Echolls!" Marcus Johnson, Logan's assistant, called as he let himself into the house, frantically hitting redial on his cell phone. Marcus hadn't been able to reach him all morning and was growing concerned. He was the publishing company's response to Logan's record of unreliable behavior. It was _his_ responsibility to deliver a presentable, and on time, Logan to all of his appointments, since Logan could not be trusted to do either on his own.

As an ex-military man, Marcus had seen far worse than the juvenile party-boy ways of his client. He moved about the house, trying to juggle the tray of coffees and Logan's dry cleaning in one hand, the newspaper, Logan's mail and his day planner in the other, while balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear. His frustration grew as he heard Logan's "inspirational message" for the seventh time this morning.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Marcus placed everything on the kitchen counter before pressing the "end call" button on his cell phone. "Mr. Echolls?" he called out again, trying to determine a direction to begin looking for him.

Unfortunately, the only response came from the over energetic dog that Logan insisted upon keeping around, despite his ability to make a box of rocks appear intelligent. Dick barreled into the kitchen, running at top speed, ready to jump at his master's stressed assistant. However, having seen this maneuver before, Marcus sidestepped the dog with an annoyed sigh and waited as the dog sped past him, lost his footing and then slid head first into the sliding glass door.

Knowing that the dog rarely left Logan's side, Marcus ventured off in the direction that the dog had come from, checking his watch for the umpteenth time that morning. "Mr. Echolls?" he called again as he rounded the corner. "Mr. Echolls, your meeting with the publisher is in an hour," he reminded, knocking on the door of the den, which had been left ajar.

After waiting a moment, he pushed the door open and entered the room. Passed out on the couch was Logan. Judging by the scene spread out in front of him, Marcus knew Logan had too much to drink again. He shook his head, picking up an overturned empty bottle and setting it upright on the bar as he entered. Next he knelt down to pick up another discarded glass, this one next to the sleeping man, making a note to have the maid take care of the stain on the rug.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," he said softly into Logan's ear, holding back a grin, knowing that the peaceful wakeup call would not work. Instead, he banged the glass down on the bar beside him and watched as Logan startled awake. "Good, you're up," Marcus held his grin as he checked his watch, "Your first meeting this morning is in less than an hour and…"

Logan cut him off, "Can't you reschedule it for… later?" he mumbled, shoving his face back into the couch.

Marcus shook his head, "You must have forgotten that the reason I am here is because you asked me to do that last week.. Now get up."

Again, Logan mumbled something into the couch but made no effort to move. With a sigh, Marcus moved closer to him and threw the grown man over his shoulder, carrying him out of the living room. The sad truth of the matter was that this was not the first time he had done this and it probably wouldn't be the last.

A flight of stairs later, Marcus deposited Logan into the shower, fully clothed, and turned the cold water on full blast. "Your clothes will be waiting on the bed," Marcus informed, "and if you are not out of that shower and dressed in fifteen minutes, you will be attending this meeting naked."

It took Logan a moment as he stood and fumbled with the knobs in the shower, trying to warm it up. He slipped twice, before finally grabbing on to them and turning up the heat. Grumbling, he stripped his clothes off, throwing them into a sopping pile outside of the shower, before grabbing the bottle of body wash from the ledge.

His shower was far from productive. There was a high probability that there was still shampoo in his hair and for some reason he smelled like flowers instead of musk. Marcus, however, looked thrilled when Logan finally joined him in the kitchen, "Don't we look nice?" he commented, clearly amused,, and handing Logan the cup of coffee he had brought.

Logan brought the cup to his lips and confirmed his suspicions: lukewarm. Making a face, he tossed the cup into the basket before digging into the pastry bag on the counter. "We're stopping for fresh coffee on the way," he informed, pulling a muffin from the bag.

Marcus threw his hands up in defeat as he ushered Logan out the front door, stopping to grab his day planner and cell phone on his way outbefore joining Logan in the car waiting in the driveway. "Mr. Echolls," Marcus began, trying to get Logan's attention away from the driver and back on him.

"Mr. Echolls!" he repeated, pressing the button to roll up the divider between them.

Logan let out a breath and sat back in his seat, "I've told you, call me Logan."

Marcus nodded, "Logan," he said, uneasily, "I need to go over your calendar with you. Next week, the art director, Mr. Henshley, would like to go over prospective book covers with you. I told him that you have an opening on Tuesday morning."

"Can we push it to the afternoon? I think I'm going to be hung over that morning. Actually, from now on, can we push all of my meetings to the afternoon? That would be great," Logan said, trying to get comfortable and go back to sleep.

Again, Marcus pushed, "No, you cannot do it in the afternoon. Tuesday afternoon you have a preliminary meeting with your director to discuss the movie. We've gone over this, Logan. You're the one who wanted to be included, remember?"

Logan waved his hand at Marcus as he continued talking, "Mister Richard Casablancas II requests your presence at Rachel Kelly Casablancas' first birthday party on the twentieth at their home on the vineyard. Mr. Casablancas asked that you be reminded that you are Rachel's godfather and your attendance is mandatory. Shall I pick her up a gift or can you be trusted to do that yourself?"

Again, Logan acted like a child, rolling his eyes at Dick's self-imposed importance, "Tell Dick I'll be there."

_He stood in front of the mirror, attempting to tie the bowtie that Dick had insisted all of the groomsmen wear. What was wrong with a regular tie? "Dick, do you even know how to tie a bowtie?" Logan complained, pulling the thing from his neck._

"_I told you, it's Richard now," he insisted, slipping in his cufflinks, "Clover thinks the name Dick is vulgar."_

_Logan shook his head and tried to hold back a laugh, "Dick is vulgar. I'm sure Richard doesn't behave any better. What kind of name is Clover anyway?"_

"_Will you shut up? You're just mad that I'm getting married first," Dick responded, reaching for his own tie and turning to Logan, "I'm sorry that your plan didn't work out but what you need to do is sell the damn ring and actually move on with your life because let's face it man, Ronnie is never coming back. Besides, you're with Ashley now, so be with Ashley. Or don't be with Ashley. Clover's got some pretty hot friends, you know."_

_He shook his head and turned away from him, clenching his hand into a fist and then letting it go, shaking it out. It was Dick's wedding day, after all, he was allowed to be a jerk. Taking an uneasy breath, he picked up the bowtie again and left the room._

"Great," Marcus said with feigned enthusiasm as he went down his list, "I scheduled your headshots with Mr. DiMarco for the 22nd at noon. You'll want to look your best, so no drinking the night before. Understood?" Marcus paused for a response.

Logan closed his eyes and began ignoring Marcus. In reality, it didn't matter what he said, Marcus would schedule the meetings and harass him about attendance until he was sitting in the meeting anyway. What difference did it make if he voiced an opinion about his schedule?

When Marcus received no response, he continued "The National Rifle Association would love for your to speak at their benefit on the—"

Logan cut him off with a short but firm, "No."

"What? Mr. Echolls, you write about people using guns all the time, the association would…" again he was cut off and growing increasingly frustrated.

Logan slumped further in his seat, "No guns. That's final. I will not be some poster boy telling people it is okay to own a gun."

"But," Marcus argued, "Attending a charitable event would look good for your career, great publicity for your new book and your movie."

"So find me something else," Logan grumbled back, "No guns. What about kid's cancer? Or AIDS? Those are still things, right? Get me into a benefit for one of those if you want one so badly. Where is my coffee?"

Marcus didn't say another word as he scribbled a note into his planner and watched the scenery pass in the window, hoping that the office had somehow moved itself twenty minutes closer.

By the time the car pulled into the office park, Logan was fast asleep and Marcus was busy searching for a Logan-approved charitable event on his cell phone. With a heavy sigh, he pressed the button to lower the partition, glancing over to Logan and back to the building before meeting the driver's eyes in the rearview mirror.

The driver nodded with a smile and laid on the horn, causing Logan to jump. His look of alarm was quickly replaced by a scowl as he got out of the car, "It wasn't funny last week when you did that and it isn't funny today," Logan grumbled as he passed by Marcus on his way into the building.

"I thought it was hilarious," Marcus smirked, easily catching up to Logan and grabbing the door for him. Logan stormed past him into the lobby and Marcus could tell that the morning's meeting was going to be anything but productive.

Once everyone was seated in the conference room, Miss Jacobs, Logan's editor, began to speak. "First, I would like to say that we were delighted to receive your final chapters this morning, only a week after your deadline, Mr. Echolls. Congratulations. It seems that Mr. Johnson was a wise investment. However, we weren't thrilled with the ending," she began, shuffling through the printed pages of his novel in front of her.

"Who is this 'we' you speak of?" Logan asked defensively.

Miss Jacobs stopped shuffling, "As I have expressed in the past six meetings, 'we' is the team of editors looking over your draft. I don't do everything myself, Mr. Echolls." She placed her glasses on the table and rubbed her temples.

Logan leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the table, "Well maybe you should. It sounds like your 'team' couldn't tell good writing from their own over-paid asses ."

The woman sent a pleading look to Marcus, before looking back to Logan. "Mr. Echolls, you set everyone on fire. I'm not sure how this gets justice for Katrina."

"Kat-AH-rina," Logan corrected, standing from his seat, "If you read it, you'd know her name is Katarina."

"Mr. Echolls," Marcus warned.

He ran his hand through his hair, "For the hundredth time, it's Logan. Jesus Christ, does anybody in this room pay attention to names?" He slammed his fist down on the table and looked between the pair.

"Excuse me," Miss Jacobs said, standing and rubbing the bridge of her nose, "I need aspirin." She quickly exited the room.

Marcus stared at Logan with a disapproving glare. "You set everyone on fire?" he questioned.

Logan shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, again. Old habits die hard. "I don't remember. I was drunk. You saw me this morning." Had he really ended his novel by killing off an entire town of people to avenge Katarina's death? He must have had a good reason for it last night.

Before Logan could sit back down, Miss Jacobs had returned, ready for round two. "Here's what we're going to do," she began, turning to Logan, "You are going to write a new ending for this novel that does not involve a horrific fire by the next time we meet. In return, we are going to pretend that this ending never existed. If you don't we will have to let both of you go and we will hire another writer to finish your novel, since the contract that you signed grants us the right to do that and you will get nothing. Do you understand?"

Logan opened his mouth to argue, but Marcus stepped in instead. "He understands. Believe me, he understands," the larger man confirmed, "He will have a new, flameless ending for you by next week; I guarantee it."

Miss Jacobs nodded and began straightening her papers, "Thank you. Otherwise, the novel was wonderful. We haven't seen writing like this in decades. Truly inspirational work, Mr. Echolls, I would hate for this to be taken away from you."

Marcus nodded and led Logan out of the room before Miss Jacobs inflated his ego so large that he wouldn't fit.

* * *

A/N: I would love you guys forever and three days if you hit the little button down there and left a review. They mean the world to me and keep me writing. Also, super thanks to all of you guys who are following and favorited this story/me. I love to when my inbox is full of sweet things from my Marshmallows. Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I would just like to start by saying thank you to everyone who reviewed! You guys really stepped it up for that last chapter. Amazing! Marshmallows for everyone! I'm glad that everyone enjoys Logan's dog's name. It amuses me too. And don't worry. I will mention the ring again. I promise. That will be resolved. Just not yet.

Maybe everyone just likes the Logan chapters better? Well, this one is about Veronica. It has a little insight into what happened with the F.B.I. I guess for a little timeline placement, after the election (mentioned at the end of season three of the show) Keith is elected Sheriff and then shot and killed. Shortly after, Veronica leaves Neptune to attend her F.B.I. internship. She hasn't set foot in Neptune since. Don't worry. I will be getting to what happened between then and now, but hopefully that clears everything up a bit.

All right, without further ado...

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Chapter Four:

The small room was illuminated by a single red bulb screwed into a shade-less lamp and pushed into an already crowded corner. Although the space's original function was a lavatory, it hadn't been used as one since they moved in. Instead it served as a dark room for developing their photos. There was something satisfying about developing one's own photos.

Over the sink a sturdy piece of plywood was placed, extending to the toilet, where it was propped up with an assortment of books and boxes to keep it level. On it were the bins with the chemical baths necessary to dip the pages, allowing the photos to appear. Once they were finished developing, the pictures were hung to dry on a string in the shower, held in place with clothespins.

Shoved in every other available space were the bottles of chemicals and photo paper, giving the space a claustrophobic feel. There was hardly enough room for one human being inside, let alone two. Thus the task of photo development was always left to Veronica.

Carefully, she removed the sheet of paper from the first basin and laid it in the second, watching as the image slowly started to appear on the paper: her favorite part. She felt a smile spread across her face in anticipation, like a child on Christmas morning.

"NICKI!" Adrian called, banging on the door and testing the handle. It jiggled loosely from the hundreds of other times he had done the same action. With just the right amount of force, the door popped open and light spilled into the room.

Her face fell as she watched the photo disappear back into the paper. Slowly, she turned around to face him, slightly hoping that either he was dying or the apartment was on fire. A quick inhale ruled out fire and as her eyes traveled up his form, meeting his, she noted not a single injury. "What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?" she questioned folding her arms across her chest.

Adrian slapped her across the face with a loud smack. Instinctively she brought a hand to her cheek, which he swatted away as he grabbed her by the jaw, bringing her closer to him, "Don't you ever speak to me like that again, do you understand?!"

She nodded slowly, closing her eyes as he released her before shoving her backwards into the room. Veronica grabbed on to the makeshift table to steady herself, unfortunately remembering too late that it wasn't sturdy and lost her balance. The board flipped, spilling all of the chemicals from the bins on top of her as she fell to the floor. Of course - having an actual table in an actual dark room would be asking too much.

From the floor she could hear him scoff and knew his agitation had grown worse, "Clean this mess up. I give up my bathroom for you and this is how you thank me, by trashing the place? You're an ungrateful little bitch, you know that?"

He paused and turned to leave, but stopped and came back, "I just remembered why I came over here in the first place: we have guests and you're being a terrible hostess. There isn't even any food in the apartment. Go to the store and then clean up this mess and take a fucking shower, would you? You stink."

Carefully she shifted her position on the floor before slowly standing and taking a step out of the room, head down. Her body was sore from the fall but she refused to let him see it on her face as she walked across the room.

As she passed, she noticed the dish by the door was empty. Walking it is, since asking for the keys would likely create yet another scene. Sighing, she grabbed her purse and opened the door, not bothering to look at who their "guests" were.

There was a bus stop three blocks from their apartment. It would be so easy to get on a bus, leave town, and never look back. The only problem with her plan was her lack of destination: once she got on a bus, where would she go?

"Do you need help finding anything?" a woman wearing a blue apron asked her, snapping her from her thoughts. Her eyes focused on the wall of soup in front of her and she wondered when she had arrived to the grocery store. "First aid is aisle six," the woman suggested, pointing in front of her to indicate the direction of aisle six.

Veronica shook her head and went back to gazing at the soup, waiting for the woman to go "help" another customer. Soup wasn't a real meal anyway, and certainly wasn't what Adrian would want. With a quick glance to insure that the woman had indeed moved on, she began wandering through the store.

_There was an urgent knock on the door followed by the footsteps of several individuals moving closer, "Ms. Mars?" a woman's voice asked._

_Slowly she opened her eyes and turned her head towards the noise, "Yes?" she asked._

_The woman pulled over the lone chair in the room and took a seat while the pair of men stood behind her. She placed the file folder in her lap and began speaking again, "We are certainly glad to see that you are feeling better. You gave us quite a scare." She paused again, laughing nervously, and looked down to the folder in her lap._

"_In the history of our program, we have never had an intern involved in a case in this way, let alone injured because of it," the woman continued, opening the folder and placing it on Veronica's lap. "This is a copy of the contract that you signed before entering the program. Our investigation into the events that occurred has led us to the official finding that you violated said agreement. I'm sorry, but we are going to have to terminate your involvement in this program."_

_Still, Veronica said nothing. She stared down at the papers in her lap, knowing what this meant: another place she couldn't return to. By the time Veronica looked up from the papers to the woman, the men had left. "Between you and me," the woman continued, "I would suggest that you look into a new career path. Your specific experience might be better suited in a different field of criminal justice. Here, at the F.B.I., we don't encourage individual assignments and rule bending. Our first priority is for the safety of our agents. I'm sorry."_

_Veronica watched as the woman stood and walked away, never looking back at the teenager lying in the hospital bed. In a moment of frustration, she closed the folder and threw it on the floor, wanting it and all the memories of the experience as far away from her as possible._

Knowing that he would most likely be high by the time she returned, she chose a few bags of assorted snack foods and his drink of choice to wash them down. At least it would keep him off her back for a few hours, maybe even long enough for her to clean up the mess he made and take a shower.

Walking from the stairs to their front door she noticed that the apartment had grown quiet with the exception of the faint sounds of music playing. Either everyone had gone home or already passed out. With a sigh, she placed the bags on the floor in front of her and dug her keys out of her purse, hoping it was the former over the latter.

Upon entering the apartment, she was disappointed to see several people passed out on the couch, a couple in various stages of undress, remnants of smoke hanging in the air above them. She recognized one of the men as Adrian's cousin Romano, who often spent time on their couch. He had one of the girls from the photo shoot the day before curled up on his chest. Veronica wondered what his wife thought of his behavior and then laughed to herself, realizing she already knew all too well what his wife thought of his behavior.

She placed the bags on the counter before walking into the bedroom. The shriek of a girl didn't faze her as she stripped her shirt off on her way to the en suite bathroom, glad to be rid of the smell. "Adrian," the girl whispered, looking around for her clothes, "you said she wasn't going to be back for hours."

He smirked and pulled the girl back to him before she found anything to put on. This wasn't the first time she had walked in on him screwing another girl and they both knew that it probably wasn't going to be the last.

Veronica shook her head and closed the bathroom door, drowning out whatever response her boyfriend had for the girl in their bed. She started the water before moving back to the sink and opening the medicine cabinet.

"_You'll be in pain for a little while, that's to be expected," the doctor informed, handing her a bottle of pills, "if it gets really bad, you can take one of these, but no more than four a day. They are really strong pain killers."_

_She nodded and took the bottle, slipping it into her purse before returning to her discharge papers. "You should be feeling better in a few weeks, but if you aren't you should make an appointment to see your physician for a follow up," he continued with a worried expression._

_Again, she nodded and flipped to the next sheet of paper on the clipboard. While she didn't have a specific destination in mind once she left the hospital, she knew she wasn't going to stay in a town that didn't want her. "Given your family history, I have to warn that these pills are addictive. It may be hard, but you are going to have to monitor yourself."_

"_I got it," she finally spoke up, signing the last form and handing the clipboard back to him. Truth be told, she really had no intention of actually taking the pills. She knew how addictive they were and what happened to her mother. She wasn't going to go down that road._

Veronica pulled out the small orange bottle and opened the childproof lid with ease before dumping two pills into her hand. Rosa Martinez: the name on the bottle, prescribed for her pain following a hip replacement surgery. She dry swallowed the pills, not thinking about the poor woman who sold her pain medication because she needed the money. Feeling relaxed, she stepped into the shower, not caring that the water was ice cold.

After lathering up and rinsing off, keeping mindful of her recent injuries, she turned the water off and wrapped herself in an old, worn towel that she was quite certain once belonged to a cheap motel. Her body shivered from the cold shower as she made her way to the bedroom in search of clothes, no longer caring what Adrian may or may not be doing in the next room.

Stumbling across the room, she made her way to the large dresser. Unfortunately, Adrian and his playmate had passed out since she entered the shower. Any noise had the potential to wake the pair, which could result in a repeat performance.

Veronica quickly dressed in the first clothes she could grab and quickly exited the room, pulling the door closed behind her. In front of her were Adrian's friends, still asleep on the couch in the same positions as before. She moved past them to the kitchen to put away the groceries, keeping an eye on the group just in case one awoke.

Truth be told, she didn't trust a single one of Adrian's friends or his "cousins." The main reason why they had moved to South America was so that he could be closer to his family. However, he failed to mention at the time that his family tree was full of handsy, disgusting drunks and addicts.

Putting the last item into the cabinet, she crumpled the plastic shopping bag in her hands before throwing it into the trash bin. A quick smile graced her face when the bag landed inside. As fast as it had appeared, it had vanished at the sound of one of the men grumbling on the couch. She froze, waiting to see if he was waking up.

Satisfied that he was going to remain asleep, she relaxed. Her dark room still needed to be cleaned and she did not need any "help" from any of them. With a sigh, she gave the kitchen one last look before moving on to her next task.

All of the photos she had spent the afternoon developing were going to have to be trashed. Between the light exposure and the deluge of chemicals, they were all ruined. Sadly, she stacked all of the slightly soggy papers into one of the now empty basins. Maybe something would be salvageable.

Setting the basin aside on the toilet, she grabbed a towel before getting down on the floor. It was covered in a sticky residue and the towel wasn't helping anything. As she moved to get up, she felt a strong hand on her back keeping her on the floor. "Why do you tempt me so?" a male voice behind her said in perfect Spanish.

The voice belonged to Romano, she was sure. His hands traveled over her body and she thought she was going to be sick. "Leave me alone," Veronica responded harshly, not wanting to give him any mixed signals.

"Nicki…" he said, drawing out her name, "you know that I cannot do that." He swiftly flipped her over so her back was on the floor and he was hovering over her.

She spit in his face and tried to free herself from his grasp. In retaliation, he slapped her across the face and grabbed her by the throat, "That is no way to treat a cousin," he explained, keeping his voice soft, "I would hate to know what Adrian would do if he found out that you were less than hospitable to family."

He paused and added a little distance between them while keeping his hand firmly at her neck, "though, I'd be more than happy to keep this between us if you made it worth my while," he continued, using his free hand to lead one of hers to the zipper on his pants.

It was certainly bad enough when Adrian touched her, but Romano? She could feel the bile rising in her throat. His hand covered hers as he forced her to release him.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Adrian asked, standing over them, "Mano? Primo?" continued, looking to his cousin who scrambled to his feet as he fixed himself.

Obviously flustered, Romano looked between Veronica and Adrian, "She came on to me. I tried to stop her, but she kept insisting. Your girl is crazy." He looked once more between them and back towards the couch before fleeing the apartment with the rest of Adrian's guests.

"Now look what you've done," Adrian accused, gesturing towards the door, "You got in the middle of my family and made all of my friends leave. I don't ask for much, Nicki." He stopped and looked around, shaking his head, "I need to go fix things with Mano, clean up this mess and I will deal with you later." He gave her one last look before storming out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

A/N: I honestly felt like this was a very realistic outcome of Veronica's F.B.I. internship. She's always seemed so independent that it almost didn't seem believable that she could conform to the F.B.I. at least in the short period of time that the internship would have lasted. Anyway, I'd love to hear your comments, thoughts, ideas, etc. So, please, please, please (insert Veronica pout face here) hit the little button below and leave me a review. They really do keep me going. And I'll just leave this lovely platter of cookies over here by the review button for anyone who wants one... they're freshly baked and smell delicious...


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you to all of you that reviewed. You guys are wonderful. I'm really glad that everyone hates Veronica's boyfriend and is really supportive of the decision to not have her pursue the FBI thing. Unfortunately, you will be seeing a bit more of the boyfriend in the upcoming chapters. I actually just got finished writing chapter ten this morning, which I am super excited for. But, until then, this is chapter five, where Logan is so wonderfully Logan.

Another huge thank you goes to my betas, because without them, these chapters would probably still be files on my computer. True story.

* * *

Chapter 5:

"I hate all of these," Logan complained, looking between the markups. None of the book covers screamed best seller. He continued to walk along the line of choices, pausing at one he particularly hated. In a slow motion, he pushed the board to the floor using a single finger, "I especially despise this one. A pirate ship, seriously? What about the tragic death of a young girl screams pirate ship to you?"

An intern of the art director stood in a corner, almost afraid to answer the question, "Well, your pen name is Galleon Lochs and we thought we might play that up with…"

Logan cut her off, "You thought wrong. Where is Mr. Henshley anyway, I thought my meeting was with him. Marcus, schedule." He snapped his fingers and held out his hand for the day planner that was permanently attached to his assistant's hand.

Despite being in the 21st century, Marcus insisted upon using a physical day planner to schedule Logan's day. There was just something about writing down the appointments that he found satisfying. Plus, whenever Logan insisted upon seeing it, he never had to hand over his phone, giving him access to all of his contacts and personal information.

"As I said before, Mr. Henshley is finishing up a meeting and will be in here soon. He asked that I show you the ideas that we came up with," the intern responded nervously. She moved from the corner to pick up the board that Logan had knocked over previously. "We can just turn this one around," she said, setting it back on the easel with the blank side out.

Logan flipped through the book, scrunching his nose at another meeting Marcus had scheduled later in the day before flipping through a few pages. His eyes landed on that date. Though it had been many years ago, he still found himself grieving when the anniversary of his mother's suicide rolled around.

"_Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, running her fingers over his bare chest._

_He shook his head and looked away. "No," Logan said, pushing her off of him and reaching for his boxers. He slipped them on before standing from the bed._

"_That's your fifth one," she warned, watching him take another small bottle from the mini-fridge, "not counting the drinks you had before we left the bar."_

_Ignoring her, he twisted the lid off and knocked the entire bottle back in one swig, before reaching down to grab another. "Come back to bed," she purred, patting the spot next to her._

_Logan set down the second empty bottle near the first and looked up. Sure, she was hot, he wasn't denying that. She had long dark hair and bright green eyes and curves in all of the right places._

"_I know what today is," she continued, now sitting up. "I loved her too. She was so pretty."_

_Hearing those words come from her mouth set him off as he felt his hands clench into fists at his sides. This girl loved her? How? How could she love her? She didn't even know her. "Leave," he said, sternly._

_Logan turned around and saw her still sitting on the bed. "Leave," he repeated, throwing the girl her clothes. Shaking his head, he turned around and opened the sliding glass door to the balcony, hoping she would take a hint._

He slammed the book shut and handed it back to Marcus, not wanting to think about it. He raised an eyebrow at Logan's actions but said nothing, tucking the planner back under his arm. "Perhaps we should reschedule?" Marcus asked, looking between Logan and the intern, knowing that if Logan was kept waiting much longer, he would likely become volatile.

"I will… uh, go check and see how much longer Mr. Henshley plans to be," she replied nervously, jumping to action as she raced out the door, obviously happy to be given an excuse to leave the room.

Logan selected a marker from the cup of pens in the middle of the conference table before pacing in front of the row of easels, absent-mindedly removing the marker cap and clicking it back into place repeatedly. "Comic Sans? Who uses Comic Sans for anything?" he asked Marcus before using the marker to draw a giant "X" through the lettering. "I thought you said this guy was the best?"

"I'm sure that changing the font wouldn't be a huge deal," Marcus said, rubbing his temple as he took a seat at the table to wait for the meeting to begin. Maybe, just maybe, Logan would run out of steam before Mr. Henshley arrived. "What do you think of the others then? Is there one that you like? I'm sure that he can work with you to change something," he offered. Still, Logan continued to edit the markups he was presented, expressing his distaste in certain features of all of them.

One was too plain. It would get passed right over on the shelf. The other was too cheerful with its oranges and reds. The final one, despite the Comic Sans, was still wrong. None of these would work. Thankfully, before he could continue his nitpicking, Mr. Henshley entered the room, "Sorry for the delay. I think we'll just skip the presentation that I had prepared for you for the sake of time. Have you made a decision?"

The two men looked to Logan, who was still looking between the three front-facing panels. "It is all right if you haven't. We can make adjustments to any design; just tell us what you want." He wiped his balding head with a handkerchief and looked up to the lights in the ceiling.

"I want…" Logan began and stopped, snapping the cap back on the marker and standing it on the table, "I want my picture. You know the one." He stopped and looked to Marcus, since Mr. Henshley has obviously never been to his home. "It's in my den, on the wall. Why can't we wrap that around the cover and then go minimalist? Just the necessary words," he finished, holding his hands in the air as though he could see it in front of him.

Mr. Henshley clasped his hands in front of him on the table quietly for a moment before speaking, "I'm not sure that we can do that, Mr. Echolls. What I meant was, we can combine elements of the designs presented in the options you've been given."

Before Logan could argue back, Marcus spoke up, holding his arm out to keep Logan in place, "If we were to go the route of Mr. Echolls' design, hypothetically, of course, how would you do that?" Logan promptly shut his mouth and leaned back into his chair.

"Well," the artist began, looking around the room, "First we would have to find out who owns the copyrights to the photo in question. Then, we would have to contact said person and find out if they are willing to sell the rights for their photo to be used in this manner. This person would probably want some sort of financial compensation, which we would have to discuss and write up a contract. We would also need the original, digital copy of the photo so we can manipulate it to work for our purposes. After that, I would need to get my team on designing the layout, coming up with a few choices for Mr. Echolls' final approval, as that is stated in his contract and uh…" From the look on his face, it was obvious that the older gentleman was trying to remember anything else about the process.

Again, Marcus spoke up in an attempt to keep Logan calm, "And how long would you say this whole process would take?"

The old man sighed and took off his glasses, "Best case scenario? We would be able to locate the rights holder, call them up in the morning, fax over paperwork and have it settled by the afternoon. A few hours. Worst case? We waste a few months tracking down an anonymous artist that doesn't want to be found using a private investigator and come up empty. And then we've wasted time on getting your book on the shelf and money on a dead end. Your best option is to choose one of the designs in this room."

Silence fell over the room as the three men sat in their thoughts. Finally, Logan spoke, "How long would it take once I picked a design to get the books printed and distributed for release?"

"Maybe about two months or so?" Mr. Henshley said and then leaned forward, "No! Mr. Echolls, we are not planning to go down to the wire on this thing. It will be my head on that platter. The answer is no."

Logan laughed pointing at the old man, "See, here's what I'm thinking. I have a meeting with my director in…" He paused and looked at his watch.

"A half an hour," Marcus supplied, surprise evident in his voice.

He nodded, "A half an hour. Do you know what a meeting with a director means? It means that I have a movie coming out. I think that we should hold off on this book, wait until my movie is finished, give the editing team plenty of time to hate every word that I wrote, and then market them together." He paused for a quick moment before repeating his point, "See my movie, buy my book. Buy my book, see my movie. Everybody wins. And it gives me almost a year to get my picture. Good talk," Logan finished, buttoning his suit jacket before holding out his hand for the older man to shake.

Mr. Henshley hesitated a moment before shaking Logan's hand. "Great," Logan smiled, "I'll have my people call your people and we'll set something up in a year from now. I'm sure I have to go now. My assistant over there is probably rolling numbers in his head trying to figure out how we'll be getting to the next meeting on time." Logan laughed as he walked out of the room, leaving the two men behind with concerned expressions on their faces.

Marcus moved quickly to catch up with him after giving his apologies to Mr. Henshley and promising to talk to him. "Mr. Echolls, you know that you can't do that, right?" he asked when they returned to the car.

"It's my book," Logan replied, already more interested in his phone than the conversation.

Marcus sighed, "Not exactly. The publishing company has already put a lot of money into this book; they're not going to be thrilled when they hear that you expect them to wait over a year for a return on this investment. They'll likely pull any offers for future works, and then where will you be?"

Logan laughed and looked up, "Is that what this is about? Job security? If they fire me then they won't have any use for you? Trust me; I've been in the business my whole life. They will eat this marketing strategy up. Look, if you want to do something, find a premiere or a talk show or something so I can stay relevant. I'll drop a few words about my upcoming book and movie and viola momentum about the project."

Feeling the car come to a halt, the pair got out in the office park where the production company making the movie for Logan's first novel had rented space. "Promise me that you'll be on your best behavior," Marcus pleaded as they reached the elevator.

"Yes, Mom," Logan mocked as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. With a smirk, Logan slid his hand down the control panel, pushing every button on its way down. "Oops," he shrugged, taking a step back.

Marcus took a calming breath and prepared himself for the long ride up to the top floor. If they weren't on track to be late before, they definitely were now. Looking at his watch, Marcus let out yet another sigh at the increasingly long day. "At this rate, it would have been faster to take the stairs," he commented, looking over to the panel to see how many more stops they had.

Logan smiled and gestured toward the door, "You're welcome to get off the ride at any time. I'm quite enjoying this."

When the elevator finally reached the top floor, the pair exited and walked into the office of the production company. "Sorry we're late," Marcus apologized to the receptionist, "We had an incident on the way here. Is Mr. Raleigh ready for us?"

The young woman looked un-amused and began typing on her computer before picking up the phone. Logan read her name tag on the desk: Chelsie Mayfair, before noticing her bright green eyes and long, dark hair.

_Looking around the bar, his eye caught a raven-haired beauty sitting at the end, alone. Walking over to her, he dropped his face, ready to play the pathetic card. "Hi, I'm Logan, Logan Echolls," he said, extending his hand to her._

_She smiled and their eyes locked, "Chelsie Mayfair."_

"_Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, taking a seat on the barstool next to hers. She nodded and he motioned for the bartender for another round._

_Dropping her eyes, she finished her drink, placing the empty glass on the bar to be refreshed. "I was a huge fan of your parents," she admitted. "It must be so hard for you. They've been replaying the special all day," Chelsie waved a hand at the televisions hung around the bar, replaying the Echolls' Family Story, for the millionth time. "It if helps any, they've inspired me to be who I am today," she added quickly, trying to lighten the mood._

"_Actress?" he asked, looking her up and down, nodding in approval of her curves._

"_Receptionist for Raleigh and Raymond Productions," she corrected, grabbing her refilled glass from the bar. "Why, do you think I'd make a good actress?" Chelsie added quickly._

_Logan smiled and reached into his pocket, "Why don't you have your people call my people," he said, placing a business card on the bar and grabbing a pen, "Tell them that Logan Echolls is looking to make a movie of __Murder by the Sea__and he would love to hear from Abby and Monty, okay?"_

"_Raleigh and Raymond?" she corrected nervously, taking the card._

_He nodded, picking up the shot glass from the bar and downing it in one swig._

Remembering that night, Logan grabbed Marcus by the arm and pulled him away from the desk, "I slept with her," he confided, "Don't look!"

Suddenly everything made sense. That's how he got the movie deal. Logan watched Marcus' face change from concern to problem-solving in an instant. "When your publisher finds out, because he will find out, I had nothing to do with this. I _will not_ lose my job because you broke some poor girl's heart," he warned.

As soon as Mr. Raleigh was ready to see them, they swiftly left the lobby, making their way to the conference room, neither one making eye contact with the receptionist. Though it certainly was a long time in the making, hopefully it would never get out just how the meeting came to exist.

* * *

A/N: So, I really hate to beg, but if I must, then I shall. Reviews are lovely. I read every last word, sometimes more than once (especially when I hit a little bump of writer's block) and they really help me get through. So, to all of you who already know where the button is and have probably clicked it before I even finished this sentence, extra marshmallows for you. For everyone else, go ahead and try it. You may like it. All of those thoughts swirling around in your heads? Just click the button and type them out. But seriously, you guys are the best.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Wow, what a week to be a part of the Veronica Mars fandom. We're getting a movie! For anyone who is still under a rock about this whole thing, I would suggest looking up the Veronica Mars Movie Project kickstarter campaign and donating because even though we've reached out goal, the more money they have, the better the movie we're going to get. Also, Smart Pop has agreed to give 25% of the price for every digital copy of Neptune Noir sold between now and when the campaign ends. It usually runs about $3.99 (meaning about a dollar of every book goes to the movie fund) but it is currently on sale on Amazon for $1.99 (and they've agreed to still give the almost dollar to the campaign). So, something to think about all of you lovely marshmallows preparing for the movie next year.

Also, I'd love to thank everyone who reviewed. I am seriously shocked by the number, 50! That is an average of 10 a chapter (I must admit, as a mathematician I do think in those terms every time I see the number haha). You guys are wonderful. Keep it up, marshmallows, you guys make my life. Seriously.

Third, I know I'm getting this out a bit later in the day than I normally do. I'm sorry. I've been working on chapter 11 and I wanted to get that finished and lost track of time. It has also been a bit slow going this week because I injured my hand in a freak knitting accident. I'm fine, though. It just takes some getting used to typing with only nine fingers.

Finally, this is a Veronica chapter. And I know that you guys are totally hating this and I'm sorry. I honestly did not expect to need so much background to this story to really get it off the ground. I'm glad that everyone loves Logan and the Logan/Marcus dynamic. The next chapter will indeed be a Logan chapter, for anyone who hasn't caught on that I'm alternating.

Oh, one final thing. In this chapter, I introduce Adrian's sister Leja. For anyone curious, I've been pronouncing in my head Leja similar to Leah, or rather Lee-Ha. Not that it is important, but just a note nonetheless.

* * *

Chapter 6:

"Here," he offered as she sat back after emptying the contents of her stomach in the toilet. It was the third morning in a row that she found herself singing to the porcelain throne. Her eyes met his, then travelled to his hand where balanced between his index finger and thumb was a large joint. "It's herbal," he continued, "helps with nausea."

Scooting back to lean against the wall, she took it from him and brought it to her lips, inhaling. She passed it back to him and watched him perform the same action, laughing as he let the smoke escape from his lungs.

She watched his eyes lose focus as he looked upward. "Do you remember that day?" he asked and took another puff. "You know the one," he continued, a grin spreading across his face. His arm extended towards her, offering her the joint again. She took it from him and inhaled again, melting into the wall as she watched the smoke rise out of her own lungs.

A slow smile crept across her face, filled with relief and hope. "There's my girl," he continued, matching her smile, "I knew she was in there. You know I hate seeing you like this, so sad." He reached over and covered her hand with his own, gently squeezing it before bringing it off of the tiled floor and to his lips, placing a light kiss on her fingertips. "Do you remember, _mi amour_?" he asked again.

These days were rare, but she had learned to enjoy them every time they came around. They reminded her of the time when they had first met, all those years ago. "Yeah, I remember," she responded, breaking her thoughts and handing the joint back to him.

"It was a good day," Adrian continued, "the kind of day life is supposed to be like."

"_Come on, it will be fun," Adrian smiled, grabbing her hand, "I can see it in your eyes. You need an adventure." He looked outside, his excitement growing at the sight of the beautiful summer day._

_Veronica followed his vision, then looked away, "What about..?" She pointed back into the house with her free hand, her smile leaving her face._

"_He has homework or something," he cut her off, pulling her gently, "We'll just explore the woods for a few hours and then we'll be back. Maybe you'll find something to take a picture of for your photography class?"_

_She sighed and then smiled, giving in to him, "Okay, okay, but I'm holding you to that." Veronica packed up her camera and gave one last look into the house before joining her friend outside for an impromptu nature hike._

_After about an hour of walking through the woods, the pair stumbled upon an old, abandoned farmhouse near a shallow lake. Veronica bent down and began snapping pictures of the scene in front of her. "We should come back here, maybe with a model or two, and do an actual photo shoot," she said walking closer to the lake as the vision spread out in front of her._

"_Yeah," he said, walking up behind her and putting an arm around her, spinning her to face him. "I found this place a few days ago and it made me think of you. It is beautiful, just like you." Her eyes caught his and he looked away, "Sorry, my English is no good. I did not mean to…"_

_She removed the camera from her face and let it hang on the strap around her neck and reached out to touch his face, looking into his eyes, looking into his soul. It was all of the reassurance he needed. Slowly, he leaned in and captured her lips with his own, pulling her closer to him. Her resistance quickly faded as she gave in, reciprocating the kiss._

_A bird call from a nearby tree broke their moment, bringing them back to reality. The sun was beginning to set and unless they wanted to be lost in the woods all night, it was time to head back. Adrian placed one last, light kiss on her lips before grabbing her hand and leading the way back to their house._

"I wish we could go back there," she said, her mind slowly returning to her body, "it was so pretty."

Adrian nodded and took a final puff on the joint before flicking it away, "You know that we can't. Damnit, Nicki, why do you always have to go and ruin these kinds of moments?"

She closed her eyes, bracing herself for what was to come next, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just…"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he asked, forcing himself up. Looking around the bathroom, he made his way to the medicine cabinet, pulling the door open harder than necessary. With loose coordination, he shifted things around, knocking things over before grabbing the bottle he was searching for. Twisting the top open, he palmed a few before knocking them back dry. "I'm going to go take a nap. I don't need to deal with this," he explained before dropping the bottle on the floor and making his way to the bedroom.

Waiting until he had passed out on the bed, she pulled her phone from her pocket with shaky hands. Quickly making a selection from her speed dial, she pulled the phone to her ear and listened to the ringing. "Leja," she whispered when the ringing stopped, "Leja, I need a favor."

"_Nicki, this is my sister, Alejandra, Leja, this is my girlfriend, Nicki," Adrian introduced the pair, looking between them with hope in his eyes._

_Leja smiled and extended her hand, "It's nice to meet you. You know, you're the first girl that Adrian has brought home to meet the family, you must be special."_

_Veronica nodded uneasily and shook the girl's hand. Special was certainly one way to put it. "Nice to meet you as well," she responded, giving her a smile._

_Adrian looked between the pair, "All right, well, I need to go and take care of a few things," he trailed off, looking directly at Veronica. She nodded and looked back towards Leja, who had begun babbling about something in Spanish that she couldn't quite understand._

"…_And we're going to be best friends!" she finished with excitement ringing in her voice, "I've always wanted a sister!" Leja grabbed her hands and pulled her deeper into the house._

Twenty minutes later the pair pulled up in front of the health clinic, "Do you want to tell me what this is about?" Leja asked, putting her car in park.

Veronica looked out the window, "I haven't been feeling well."

"And Adrian?" Leja pushed, concern evident in her eyes.

The blonde let out a sigh before turning to her friend, "He'd kill me if I brought something contagious into the apartment. I just need to get checked out. It's probably nothing."

"I won't say anything, but Nick, you're not as stealthy as you think. There aren't many _gringas_ in this town. People talk," the young woman warned, looking around the parking lot. There were only a few old, beat up cars scattered in the open space. She let out a long breath after a pause and continued, "I'm coming in with you. If anyone says anything, you were taking me to the doctor, understand?" Veronica nodded quickly as the pair got out of the car.

"So," the doctor said, flipping through her chart as she got settled in the room, "What seems to be bothering you today?"

Veronica took in the room for a moment, mentally comparing it to all the doctors' offices of her past and quickly deciding that it was definitely the worst of them. She took in a breath as she looked at Leja before letting it out and focusing back on the doctor, "I've been nauseous lately and really tired. I probably just ate some bad leftovers, or maybe it's the stomach flu."

He nodded and scribbled something on the page before setting it down, "All right, and who is she?" he asked, pointing to Leja.

Again the girls looked at each other, "I'm her sister," Leja responded, glaring.

The doctor looked between the pair, skepticism growing on his face, but said nothing. Instead, he picked up his stethoscope and brought it to his ears. "This may be a little cold," he warned before placing the other end on her back. When he finished, he opened a drawer and pulled out a blood pressure cuff, "It is easier if you just relax and don't move your arm."

After a few moments, he stepped back and picked up her chart again, "Are you currently taking any medications?"

Veronica thought for a moment, "Aspirin when I get a headache."

The doctor nodded and wrote her answer down, "Anything else?"

"Herbal tea, when my throat is sore," she responded, "That's all."

He continued writing and flipped the pages, "Do you get sore throats often?"

"Do you think it is related to my upset stomach?" Veronica questioned, not sure where he was going with this. She felt Leja grab her hand and give it a squeeze.

Noticing the interaction, the doctor put the chart down, "Maybe, but I can't say for certain. Would you mind lying down, I'd like to check your abdomen."

Leja stood from her spot next to Veronica on the exam table but remained close by. Beginning his examination, he moved past the defensive girl to his patient on the table, "Let me know if anything hurts, okay?"

Veronica nodded, trying to relax on the table, but her thoughts kept returning to Adrian. How would he react if she brought the stomach flu into the apartment? If she gave him the stomach flu? It certainly would not be pretty.

Removing his hands from her stomach, the doctor stepped back and retrieved his stethoscope, placing one end on her stomach and the other in his ears before nodding. "I need to do a blood test to confirm, but I believe that you are _embarazada_."

_Embarazada_. Why couldn't she think of the translation for that word? Sure, she can remember "blood test" and "abdomen" but _embarazada_? Apparently not. Embarrassed? No. Embarrassment isn't a medical condition.

Veronica looked to Leja. Her face betrayed her with wide eyes and a slack jaw. "Leja?" she questioned in her confusion.

"He said that you're going to have a baby," she calmly clarified.

Veronica's expression slowly changed to mirror the one Leja had only moments ago. A baby? She couldn't have a baby. Quickly she grabbed her things and walked out of the office, suddenly unable to breathe.

Leja flashed the doctor an apologetic look before running after her friend. "Nicki! Nicki!" she called as she ran through the hallway and out the door, finally catching up to her at the car. "Nicki," Leja began, stopping to inhale, "are you okay? This is like big. Really big."

"Leja, promise me you won't say anything to anyone, including Adrian. Especially Adrian," Veronica begged.

The girl nodded, "You have my word, I won't, but it is his, right? It is my little niece or nephew growing in there, right?"

"Of course!" Veronica responded, perhaps a little too quickly. "It's just," she paused, collecting her thoughts, "I can't do this. Could you imagine Adrian with a baby? We smoked a joint together in the bathroom just this morning….Oh my god!"

The realization sank in. This morning she had been pregnant. This morning, when Adrian offered her some, she had been pregnant. Her mind started to race with thoughts of all of the other things she had done recently that she probably shouldn't do while pregnant.

Leja placed a calm hand on her shoulder, "It will be okay. It's still probably really early. These things are like resilient at this stage. A little pot might be good for him. Relax, okay? We'll figure this out, but in the meantime, no more joints or alcohol or… _herbal tea_."

Veronica started to laugh uncontrollably. "Great," Leja said, throwing her arms into the air, "now you've completely lost your mind. So, as the only sane person left around here, I'm going to suggest that you get in the car so I can take you home before Adrian notices that you're missing. He'd probably throw both of us out of a window." She paused for a moment before continuing, "But, on the bright side, that would take care of your little…_problem_."

Catching her breath from her outburst of giggles, Veronica straightened up and walked over to the passenger side of the car, "You do realize that you're talking about a human being, right?"

"Adrian or the baby?" Leja quipped, "Kidding. It's just that ever since… _you know_, happened, Adrian hasn't really been himself. You can't really blame me for saying that. You know it's true, too. Honestly, I don't even understand why you continue to be with him. He's my brother, and I have to love him, but you don't, and I won't hate you if you stop. Besides, you have a baby to think about now, and you and I both know that the best thing for that baby is not my brother," she ranted, her voice lowering as she looked around the parking lot.

Leja paused for a moment, inserting the key into the ignition, but waiting to turn over the engine, "Just think about it, Nicki. You could go home, to your home. I'm sure your parents miss you. They would probably help with the baby. I'd never tell."

Veronica let out a hard breath, "He'd torture you, Leja, until you told him. I can't let you do that. There has to be another way. We'll find something else."

"Just know," Leja said as she started the car, "once Adrian finds out about the baby, that's it. As long as you want to see your child, he is going to be a part of your life."

The rest of the ride was silent as Leja drove Veronica home. This was not the news that Veronica had been expecting to receive. She just needed a moment to think of a plan.

"We're here," Leja noted, pulling up in front of the apartment building and breaking Veronica from her thoughts.

"Thanks for the ride," she said, getting out of the car and then turning around, "Thanks for everything." Veronica closed the car door and walked the short distance into the building, hugging her arms closer to her body, subconsciously protecting the growing life inside of her from what was to come.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I really did do that. Feel free to sound off in the reviews. I love reading them. They keep me writing even when my hand is telling me that I probably should be taking it easy. So, type away in the lovely box somewhere around here and click the awesome button to send it to me. Then, go and check out the VM kickstarter campaign/buy Neptune Noir (if you can).


	7. Chapter 7

My dear Marshmallows, I'm so sorry I've been getting later in the day with the uploads. It has been a bit of a crazy weekend for me, and I just got to doing the final edits for this chapter this afternoon. Also, awesome job with the reviews, you guys seriously brighten my day. I've been hard at work on Chapter 12 and they just keep me going. This one, below, is a Logan chapter, with some lovely Logan/Marcus moments to brighten your life.

As a reminder to anyone who has not already done so, the Kickstarter for the Veronica Mars Movie is still going, so feel free to donate or adjust your pledges a little bit higher. Also, until the end of the month if you purchase the e-book version of Neptune Noir, 25% of the price will go to the movie fund (pretty much a dollar per copy sold), plus you get a great book to read seventeen times while you wait for me to give you another update (and I guess the movie too...) And for anyone who isn't sold on giving money, just think of it as pre-ordering it. Okay, enough plugging.

As always, I would like to thank all of the people who played huge roles in helping me bring these chapters to you. Without them, these would still be ideas swimming around in my head. I feel like I forget to do that often, so I'm throwing it in there now.

* * *

Chapter 7:

"What are you doing?" Marcus asked, walking into the bedroom confidently. After many years of barging into that very room to pull the other man from his slumber, Marcus had lost his feeling of reservation.

Logan turned around and smirked, "Maybe we should teach you to knock. One of these days you are going to walk in on something that you don't want to see and I'm not talking about me." He wiggled his eyebrows before moving from his suitcase back to the closet, looking for something in particular.

Marcus walked further into the room and eyed the open suitcase on the bed, "You really don't need all of this for the meeting with your publisher this afternoon, Mr. Echolls. A change of clothes really won't be necessary."

He returned from the closet carrying a button down shirt, "Yeah, my flight leaves in two hours, so you're going to have to reschedule that. Tell them I have the flu or I needed to take Dick to the vet or something."

Shaking his head and sighing, Marcus took a minute before responding. "You've already had the flu twice this month and Dick has been to the vet six times. If he goes again, they may actually call animal control this time….not that that would be such a tragedy," he muttered the last part under his breath.

"Have I used food poisoning lately?" Logan asked, folding the shirt before placing it into his suitcase, not really interested in the conversation. His mind was made up; he was going to New York City in two hours and nothing Marcus could say would change that.

"Mr. Echolls," Marcus warned, "What is so important that you must leave right away?" Looking around he made a mental note to ask the housekeeper to pay a little closer attention to the bedroom. It certainly could use a deep cleaning, and the only time that was likely to happen was while Logan was out of the house.

Finished packing, Logan closed his suitcase and set it on the floor, "Art exhibit. Tomorrow is the opening night. I have to be there."

Marcus could barely restrain himself from rolling his eyes, "And since when are you interested in art? Two months ago you were invited to a gallery opening in Los Angeles and you refused to go. What was it that you called it? A gathering of the…"

Logan cut him off, "I do now, okay? Venus Noir's art is going to be featured. I was thinking maybe the photographer would be there and I could ask about the photo for my book. What kind of artist doesn't show up to their gallery opening, right?"

"You're right, and since this is actually productive for your work, I will rearrange your meetings for you to give you the rest of the week off," Marcus agreed, pulling out his cell phone, impressed that for once Logan was actually showing initiative. "But," he continued before dialing, "I will have one of our New York representatives check in on you to make sure that you stay out of trouble or should you need the aid of our legal team."

With a laugh, Logan picked up his bag and grabbed his ticket from the bedside table "Well, since you're here, do you mind giving me a ride to the airport?" he asked with a smile, "Oh, and if you don't mind, could you make sure Dick gets fed while I'm away. He has become quite fond of eating."

By the next afternoon, Logan found himself in New York City, refreshed from a full night's sleep in one of the finest hotels the Big Apple had to offer. Certainly one of the things he missed most about not living in the Grand was the close proximity to a bar.

Sure, he had a rather fine alcohol selection in his home; it just didn't have the same feel as an actual, physical bar. Plus, he had to make his own drinks at home, which didn't suit him at all. Regardless of how the night turned out, Logan knew he was going to end up at that bar before heading back up to his room.

Checking his watch, he stepped closer to the street and held out his arm to hail a cab. The gallery didn't open for another two hours, but part one of his plan involved arriving early. Part two: his charming personality. And, of course, part three involved cash and a lot of it. There was hardly situation he encountered that a large amount of money could not resolve.

As he got into the taxi, he told the driver the name of the gallery before relaxing into the seat. There were already six voicemails and fifteen texts waiting for him from Marcus. Logan sighed and deleted all of the messages without checking them. It would do his assistant some good not being able to micromanage every moment of his life.

Then again, maybe not. The familiar ringtone began to fill the cab. Weighing his options, Logan decided to answer the phone, "Stromboli's Pizza," he answered confidently.

"So, you are alive," Marcus responded, less than amused.

Logan laughed, "You already knew that. I know you confirmed the flight with the airport. I also know you confirmed my check-in at the airport and considering I just got into this cab, I'm guessing that they called you when I left as well."

"Where are you going?" Marcus continued.

Logan waited a moment before responding, "I…hear…tunnel…bye." He quickly ended the call, silenced his phone and shoved it deep into his pocket, knowing that Marcus was probably already tracking the GPS. Thank you smart phones and all your fancy apps: now worried assistants can easily keep tabs on their irresponsible clients.

It was still early when the taxi pulled up in front of the gallery, exactly as Logan had planned. He paid the driver and got out, stopping on the sidewalk to get a look at the building before entering.

There wasn't anything terribly distinguishing about the building. It stood a few stories tall with plenty of windows, blending in with the several other office buildings in the area. If he had to guess, the original purpose of the gallery was to be corporate.

With one final look, he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked up to the door. He wished he could be more surprised that he found it unlocked, but it definitely worked into his plan. Originally he had intended to use his charm and good name to get in the door early. The ability to just walk right in worked just as well.

The next step in his strategy was to find someone who could introduce him to Venus Noir, however, that would have to wait as he was momentarily sidetracked by the artwork hanging on the wall. The photograph caught his eye when he entered the gallery and he couldn't stop himself from moving towards it to examine it more closely.

It told a story. One split second of an ongoing tale of the dance between heartbreak and hope. There wasn't a story ever told that he understood better than that one. Looking slightly to the left, he noticed the information card on the wall.

_The Broken Brigadoon_

_Venus Noir_

"Nobody's supposed to be in here. The gallery doesn't open for another hour," a voice behind him squeaked, obviously startled to see Logan standing there.

He turned around to look at her, "I… the door was open." He pointed backwards towards the way he had entered.

"I was expecting a delivery; wine and cheese. It's a gallery opening," she began moving closer to him, "You're Logan Echolls."

A smile spread across his face as he extended his hand, "In the flesh, and I was just mesmerized by this photograph."

The young woman shook his hand and returned his expression, "Felicity Rogers," she introduced before continuing, "That's a Noir. Oh the headaches I go through to get those in my gallery, but they're so worth it. You know the artist is this team in some little hut town in South America."

"So," he inquired, "Will this South American dream team be at this little shindig this evening?"

Felicity laughed, a full, head thrown back, high-pitched laugh that originated in her belly, "God no. They don't leave the country, barely speak any English. It would make my job so much easier if they came to these things. People are always asking to meet them, put a face to the photography…" she paused and looked into his eyes, "You want to meet them."

Logan nodded, "Yes, but not for personal reasons like you may think. I bought a Noir many years ago and it was my muse for my latest novel. I wanted to use it as the book cover, but the only way I can do that is if I can get the copy rights. And…."

"And you want me to use my contacts to get in touch with the artist to help you?" she finished, checking her watch. The gallery would be opening soon.

Again, Logan nodded, "I would really appreciate it."

The woman exhaled and looked around, "I really have to finish prepping. People are going to start showing up soon, the press will be here. If you have time later, maybe you could buy me a drink and I could give them a call. No guarantees. It is hard to get in contact with them."

A maybe was certainly better than a no. He looked her up and down and nodded; he wouldn't mind having a drink with this woman. She smiled and turned around, returning the way that she had come.

In a few short hours, Logan found himself at a nearby bar, nursing a glass of whiskey and listening to Felicity rant about the life of running an art gallery. "Oh, and there was this one awful night where this guy, big guy," she gestured outward with her hands for emphasis, "tripped over a sculpture and splashed his glass of wine on a painting. I thought I was being punk'd, I couldn't believe it." She finished the last of her drink and Logan gestured to the bartender to bring her another.

"I bought my first Noir over five years ago, on a whim while in Chicago," he began, bringing the conversation back to why they were at the bar in the first place. Carefully, he pulled in the wrapped package containing tonight's purchase closer to his body, not wanting it to get disturbed by the bar's other patrons.

_He moved quickly through the gallery, looking for the section he had seen from the window on the street. The photos had caught his eye on his walk back to his hotel from visiting his sister, who for the moment was a showgirl in a nightclub in the city._

_Finally, he found them, lined up neatly on a wall. Logan wasn't sure how long he had been standing, eying them, before a man tapped him on the shoulder, "I'm sorry, sir, but we're closing soon. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."_

"_How much for this one?" Logan asked, pointing to the photo in front of him. He had just gotten the advance for his first novel, not that he was ever short on cash, but he deserved a reward for all of his hard work._

_He adjusted his tie and looked around to the remaining guests, "These have gotten quite the stir this evening. You're lucky. You chose the last one. Of course, it is also the most expensive."_

_Logan pulled out his wallet and pulled out a credit card, "Doesn't matter, I can afford it. Wrap it up, will you? It looks like rain, I'd hate for it to get damaged."_

"_The gallery doesn't close until tomorrow night. I can't let you have it until then," the other man continued, taking the credit card from Logan's hand._

_Logan thought for a moment, "I'm leaving tomorrow morning. There's an extra thousand in it for you if I can have it tonight."_

_Holding up the card the man nodded with a smile, "Very well. Congratulations. I'm sure that you will be thrilled with your purchase for years to come. I wish I was fortunate to own one of the premiere collection. I imagine that this artist will be around for quite a while."_

Felicity smiled, "I can't believe you own an original Noir from the first collection. Do you know how rare those are? I am so jealous. They like don't exist anymore. They're all part of private collections. Okay," she said, swallowing the last of the drink in front of her, "you've sold me. I'm calling them right now, before I get too drunk and make a fool of myself." She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone.

Thankfully, the bar was already starting to empty out, or there would have been no chance that either party on the call would have been able to hear anything. Felicity held the phone to her ear and looked around. Logan watched her actions, silently hoping for someone to answer the phone.

"Hola?" she finally said and Logan let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Success. "Adrian?" Felicity continued, looking down. "Yo hablo con Nicki?" she fumbled with her Spanish, "Nicki," she repeated as though repeating the woman's name would help with cognition.

With a sigh, she held the phone away from her ear for a moment, "Adrian doesn't speak English but his partner, Nicki, does, at least more than he does. Maybe we'll get lucky and she'll be there because Lord knows my Spanish is terrible," Felicity explained to Logan.

Logan nodded and brought his glass to his lips, knowing his Spanish probably wasn't any better. "Nicki!" Felicity continued, this time in a more excited tone, "Thank God! So, listen. I have a business opportunity for you and Adrian."

There was a moment of silence and again Felicity held the phone away from her mouth, "Nicki is translating for Adrian. From what I've gathered about this partnership, he's more of the business end and she's more of the artist. I think."

Felicity held the phone back to her mouth, "I have a writer who wants to buy one of your photos for his book….His name is Lo-"

Logan cut her off, "Galleon Lochs, use my _nom de plume_, Marcus will kill me if you use my real name."

She waved him off and sighed, "Galleon Lochs. He writes novels. They're very popular in America, Canada and parts of Europe… He is willing to offer you compensation for your work."

Felicity waited while Nicki translated the last portion to Adrian and picked up the drink the bartender just brought her, giving Logan a sideways glance, knowing exactly where this night was headed.

* * *

If you feel so inclined, please fill out the little box below and leave me your thoughts. I love reading them and they really do help me get through some of the more difficult/sticky spots in my chapters. How about this lovely deal: I'll keep the chapters coming if you keep the reviews coming? Yeah. I like that too. In the meantime, enjoy some Marshmallows and be cool soda pop.


	8. Chapter 8

Hello all my lovely marshmallows! Sorry this is so late today. I spent Easter with my family this morning. As always, thank you for your wonderful reviews. You guys just kind of make my life. I'm glad everyone is enjoying the Marcus/Logan interaction. I enjoy writing it. I also find the Dick confusion amusing. As a note to anyone who missed that in the last chapter, Logan's dog is named Dick. This chapter, as I'm sure every one of your super sleuths has caught on is about Veronica. There is also a little more about Leja, and I hope everyone is enjoying her as much as I am.

This is a reminder that there is still time to join the kickstarter campaign to help the Veronica Mars Movie Project (now open to people outside of the US) so if you haven't yet and have a few spare bucks, please get on that soon. I'm hoping for a nude high school reunion on a nuclear submarine in space with several brawl scenes. Okay maybe not, but you get the point. TODAY (March 31st) is also the last day you can purchase Neptune Noir and have some of the proceeds go to the movie project, so if that is also something you've been meaning to do, hop to it.

* * *

Chapter 8:

"A meeting?" Veronica questioned into the phone before holding it away from her face. She thought for a moment about the words before turning to her boyfriend and translating. "The writer," she began and thought for a moment.

"_Galleon Lochs_," he supplied the name from before in its original English form.

She nodded, "He wants to have a meeting with us to discuss the purchase of the photo."

Adrian moved about the apartment lost in thought, "Fine, but make it soon. The sooner I get that money, the better."

Veronica sighed, already knowing what he would spend the money from the sale of her photograph on. She looked towards the phone in her hand and thought about accidentally ending the call. All it would take would be one slip of her finger.

Her finger hovered on the end call button, thinking about the possibilities. For a second, it would feel wonderful. A photograph she regretted even creating would remain in limited circulation. However, after the second passed, the wonderful feeling would be replaced with an awful one as Adrian's fist collided with her face. He wouldn't forgive her if she botched the sale.

With a sigh, she lifted the phone back to her face, "Mr. Illiado requests that the meeting occur as soon as possible." At least a meeting bought her a little more time to think of a better plan.

Veronica listened to the woman relay the message to the man she was with while she watched Adrian move about the apartment, "Could you hurry this up," he called out, picking up his keys from the table, "I have things I need to do and I'd like my phone back."

"Right, how about you send us an e-mail with the details and we will check our schedule," she continued, trying to set up the meeting, holding up a finger for Adrian to wait a minute.

He rolled his eyes and threw his keys on the floor before stomping across the apartment to where she stood, grabbing the finger she held out to him with one hand and the phone with the other. In a quick movement he ended the call and tossed the phone onto the couch, freeing his other hand to prevent her from fleeing. "When I say I want something, you give it to me, do you understand?" he asked, bending her finger past where it was meant to go.

She nodded quickly, trying to keep a straight face, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had broken her.

As soon as it had begun, it was over. He smoothed his shirt, retrieved his phone and his keys and headed out the door. When she heard the click of the door latching into place, she let out a breath and collapsed onto the floor.

"Leja?" Veronica asked as soon as her best friend answered the phone, "Leja, can you come over?"

Fifteen minutes later, Leja joined Veronica in the small kitchen of her apartment, pouring over the lingering remnants of a first aid kit. "You really should go to the hospital, it is probably broken," Leja warned, wrapping a bandage around Veronica's hand.

Veronica shook her head and sipped on her glass of water using her other hand, "I can't. It was risky enough going the last time. They will ask questions. What should I tell them? I closed it in a door? No one will believe that." She let out a long sigh, silently wishing her Spanish was better or maybe that Leja's English was.

"He wasn't always like this," Leja admitted sadly, "he used to be a really good big brother. He'd sneak me an extra candy when our parents weren't looking, give me rides on his back, and defend me to all of his friends. I used to think any woman would be lucky to have him, but now…" She looked at Veronica with sadness in her eyes.

Veronica took her hand back and cradled it close to her body, "He used to be a good boyfriend too."

"_I have a surprise for you," Adrian beamed when she came through the front door after class one day, acting like an anxious child on Christmas morning. He grabbed her by the hand and led her through the house to where he had hidden it. "Close your eyes," he said when they got close._

_Veronica laughed, "Fine, but I'm not going to open my mouth. I know where that one ends." She obeyed and placed her free hand over her closed eyes, thankful that she had lived in the house long enough to know it by memory._

_Finally they stopped and she almost ran into the back of him. Thinking over the layout of the house, her face twisted in confusion. They had stopped at the bathroom. "Okay, open your eyes," he insisted, taking a step away._

"_There better not be a tiger in here," she warned, placing her hand on the knob and opening the door. Where there had once been a bathroom that morning was now a converted dark room, complete with a brand new, film camera sitting on the toilet waiting for her._

_This was only one of a few times where Veronica had actually found herself speechless. She stood in the doorway, jaw slack, afraid to blink in case this was all a dream. "Do you like it?" he asked hopefully, stepping closer to her and wrapping and arm around her waist._

_A grin spread across her face as she turned to him, "I love it. How did you..? This must have cost…" Her sentence was cut short by her lips reaching his as she pulled him into a deep kiss. "Thank you. This is one of the nicest things that anyone has ever done for me," she rested her hand on his chest and looked into the room, still in disbelief._

"_Your art is important to you, so it is important to me too," he justified, taking her hand and leading her into the room for the first time._

"So," Leja said, breaking Veronica from her thoughts, "Have you told him yet? Maybe this is what he needs to break out of this rut he's in."

She shook her head, "Look around, Leja, we're not exactly in a child-friendly environment. I just, I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm sorry." As soon as the words left her mouth, she instantly regretted them. This was her baby; of course she wanted it. She just didn't want to raise it there or rather, with him.

Leja nodded and looked around the frumpy apartment, "So, tell me more about this book deal."

Veronica frowned. Although it was a safer choice of conversation, it wasn't cheerier. "I don't want to sell my photo," she confided, "I know this is a big break for my art, and I know we could use the money, especially now, but… I just…" she paused to collect her words. "I hate that photo. I really do. I took it years ago during a different phase of my life. Now my art is going in a completely different direction and I don't want that to be the photo that everyone associates me with. I probably won't ever get a break like this again, but it is my art, my name, and if I'm going to go public, I want it to be on my terms."

Her friend reached out and grabbed her non-injured hand, "I understand. I would feel the same way if someone wanted to release a song I recorded years ago. They're all so terrible. It would ruin me. No one would ever take me seriously again." She paused for a moment before moving away from the kitchen to her bag, "What did you say the author's name was again?"

Veronica looked at her curiously, "Galleon Lochs, why?"

Leja pulled her laptop from her bag and brought it over to the counter, "I want to look him up. See what kind of author wants to use that photo for his book cover. Hopefully he isn't some kind of freak. Maybe he's cute. You know, I wouldn't hate you if you dumped by brother and ran away with a troubled writer. Just promise you'll send for me."

"He's American. He speaks English," Veronica warned and after a pause, clarified, "Anything you find probably won't be in Spanish."

"Ahh," Leja smiled, shifting her laptop towards Veronica, "Well, it is a good thing that you can read English, isn't it?"

Veronica laughed and took over the laptop, "What are you looking to find out, anyway?" she asked, scrolling through the website.

Leja shrugged, "I don't know. Anything. Does he have a pet monkey? Rich people always have crazy pets." She looked over Veronica's shoulder as she went through the page.

"Well it says that he's from California," Veronica read off of the website before being interrupted by her friend.

"Maybe you know him. Haven't you been to California?" Leja asked with excitement growing in her voice.

Veronica shook her head and shifted away from her friend's uncontrolled excitement, "California is a big state, a lot of people. The odds that I have met him before are pretty slim. That would be like asking you if you knew everyone in the country."

The younger girl crossed her arms in a pout, "Well then he may as well be from Antarctica. What else does it say?"

As if on instinct, Veronica slammed the laptop shut when she heard the doorknob jiggle. They both jumped at the sound and turned to face the door, unsure if Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde would be joining them this afternoon.

The door slowly opened and both of the apartment's occupants were silent. In walked Adrian, head down and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He slowly closed the door behind him and dropped his keys onto the table near the door. "Nicki," he started, looking up, "Leja," he added, noticing his sister.

He joined them in the kitchen, first placing a light kiss on his sister's cheek before moving on to Veronica and handing her the flowers, "I'm sorry about earlier."

Veronica set the flowers down on the counter next to her. "Does this mean you changed your mind about the meeting?" she asked hopefully, reaching out her hand to place it on top of his.

He shook it off and took a step back, "I'm trying to apologize for hurting you. Why can't you just let me do that?" he asked, growing defensive. Adrian turned around and looked at his sister, "Leja, I think it is about time that you headed home. Ma is probably worried about you." His words suggested this was a simple request, his tone indicated otherwise.

Leja nodded and picked up her computer, "Nicki, I will see you… another time. Try to be more careful with that hand. Doors can be so _unforgiving_."

Veronica dumped the flowers in the sink. She didn't want his flowers and she certainly didn't need his empty apologies.

"Bitch!" he yelled, watching her actions, "Do you want to live on the street? I don't have to keep you here. You know, I can't quite remember why you're still here. That was _my_ sister and this is _my_ apartment, and next week, I will be selling _my_ photo. You are optional."

Adrian stomped off for the second time that day, this time to the bedroom. Not wanting to remain surrounded by yet another fight; Veronica walked to the balcony and sat down on her chair. The sun was just beginning to set and despite the ugliness that resided inside the apartment, the world was beautiful.

She allowed herself to relax in the final few rays of warmth as the afternoon blended into evening. At least this way she didn't notice the parade of females enter her apartment and join her boyfriend in their bedroom. She didn't have to hear their laughter or smell the pungent aroma from smoke of the joints they were going to light. Outside, Veronica could just be, away from it all and pretend for a moment that none of it existed. It was all just a terrible dream, one that she would soon wake up from.

Or at least so she thought as she allowed her eyes to close and sunk deeper into the plastic chair. Tonight would be a dream.

* * *

As always, my shameless begging for reviews. I've been having a rough time with Chapter 12 lately so your kind words of encouragement would really help me out. I always love to hear your thoughts, good or bad. And don't worry, the next chapter is all Logan-y goodness. Thanks again to all of you loyal readers. You are amazing.


	9. Chapter 9

First, there are still a few days left to donate to the Veronica Mars Movie Project kickstarter campaign. For anyone who has been holding out, now is your opportunity. Rob Thomas just posted pictures of the t-shirt designs. Only a few days left to get in on that action.

Second, thank you to all of my lovely reviewers (and followers and favorites, I see you all too). Thank you for all of your support and kind words. I can honestly say that some days it really isn't easy to write about abuse. Well, it is never easy. I love Veronica too, and it pains me to put her in this situation, you have no idea. I just really wanted to do something a little different than all of the fluffy, happily ever after stories that are out there. I'm not saying anything negative about anyone's stories, because I do love a good piece of fluff and happiness. I'm simply saying that right now there isn't a lot of that in this story. Well, there are a couple of moments in this chapter that I really love. Actually, Dick the dog is kind of one of my favorite characters.

Also, totally feeling the love for Veronica's unborn child. Haha. I'm glad so many of you are so passionate. Marshmallows for all. And. I got this chapter up super early, so marshmallows for me too.

* * *

Chapter 9:

"Mr. Echolls?" Marcus called out as he walked through the empty house. He hung Logan's dry cleaning on the railing of the stairs as he made his way to the kitchen, shifting the items in his hands to make them easier to carry. "Mr. Echolls?" he called again, starting to feel a strange sense of déjà vu.

He set the tray of coffees down on the kitchen counter and pulled out his cell phone. Tapping a single button on speed dial, Marcus brought the phone to his ear. A few seconds later he heard a nearby buzzing. He sighed and picked up Logan's phone from the counter. Typical Logan.

Something else was missing. He turned around and leaned against the counter, looking at the path he had just taken. Then it hit him, or rather, didn't hit him: Dick. On any given day, Dick was more than happy to greet him as soon as he walked in the door.

Logan laughed and shook his head as he watched his assistant run down the beach in his business suit. "Mr. Echolls! Mr. Echolls!" he called out, waving his arms wildly above his head.

The surfer planted his board in the sand next to him before bending down to pet his dog. If anyone loved the beach more than Logan, it was Dick. "Doesn't he look funny?" Logan asked, alerting the dog's attention to their approaching visitor.

Dick barked happily and wagged his tail, ready to greet the familiar face. Without a second look of approval towards Logan, the dog raced off up the beach, ready to stop Marcus in his tracks.

Logan watched as the realization washed over Marcus's face. His eyes grew wide as he attempted to reverse mid-stride. Unfortunately, the overly dressed man lost his footing on the loose sand and fell over, just in time for Dick to greet him. The dog stood over him, paws on his chest before leaning down to lick his face.

The blonde waited a moment longer before pulling his board from the sand and jogging over to the pair. "How professional of you," he commented, looking down at his assistant, who was now soggy and sandy.

Marcus reached out his hand and Logan helped him up. "I was looking for you," he commented, brushing himself off, "Your flight leaves in three hours and you're surfing! I can't believe you! Have you even packed yet?"

The younger man shook his head and looked back towards the waves. It really was a perfect surfing day. "Is there a later flight?" he asked, longing filling his voice. There weren't many days in his schedule that he spent the majority of surfing anymore.

Marcus let out an exasperated breath, "I did not spend tireless hours rearranging your schedule so you could spend a couple of hours surfing. Do you know how hard it was to reschedule some of those meetings? You wanted this, remember? The least you could do is be grateful."

Looking away from the ocean, Logan nodded. Marcus did have a point. He sighed and turned his attention toward the dog, "Come on, Dick. We have to go inside. Beach time is over." The dog let out a whine but followed anyway.

Within the hour, Logan was showered, packed and ready to go to the airport, again. Marcus, however, was still trying to clean sand off of his suit and avoid the wet dog.

"Remember," Logan warned as they walked out to the car, "Dick needs to be fed."

Marcus shook his head, "That is not in my job description and he smells like wet dog. Hire a dog-sitter."

Logan slid into the car first and waited for Marcus to join him before responding, "Let me rephrase this: I require assistance in feeding and grooming my dog while I am away for a few days on business. Now, who would be the perfect person to assist me? Oh, right. My personal assistant, and who would that be…?" he trailed off, allowing the other man to finish his thought.

"Me. I get it," Marcus grumbled, closing the door behind him, "I have a master's degree, you know." The other man nodded and rested his head against the back of the seat, ready to sleep through the short drive to the airport. Marcus reached across the short distance between them and shook him, "You're not sleeping. We need to go over your schedule. Someone from our legal department will be meeting you there," he began before he was cut off.

"Is it Kimberlee?" he asked excitedly, hoping to have a few days alone with the redhead from legal. What a vacation that would be.

Marcus flipped through his papers and shook his head, "No, it is Fred Winder. He's one of our best."

Logan groaned. Fred was about fifty, balding, and sporting quite the spare tire. Not to mention he was about as interesting as a wall. In fact, Logan was sure he had had better conversations with a wall than this man.

"A translator will also be meeting you there," Marcus continued, ignoring Logan's reaction. "He's very good, and I would strongly suggest that you make use of him," he warned, "I know the extent of your Spanish, and trust me, you don't want to use any of it."

"He?" Logan questioned as though that were the only piece of information he had picked up from the entire conversation, "As in another male? Does he at least drink? Maybe he could be my wingman."

Marcus closed the folder he was reading from in frustration, "Have it your way, Mr. Echolls. Go to sleep. I hope everything goes well for you while you are away, since I have yet to tell you when any of your meetings are or where you will be staying, I'm sure you can figure it out."

"Jesus Christ, Jeeves, it's Logan. Lo-gan. Logan. Second, I'm sure that I am staying in the biggest hotel this tiny speck of a town has to offer, and I will probably still end up with bed bugs or worse. There is also probably a car waiting for me at the airport to take me directly to said crappy hotel. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200," Logan ranted, running a hand through his hair as he took a breath before continuing, "As for getting to my meetings? I have no doubt that you'll call me before them to make sure I'm awake because that is your actual job: to make sure that I am where I am supposed to be. Am I missing anything?"

The assistant set the papers on the seat next to him, "Rachel's birthday party is a few days after you return. Mr. Richard Casablancas the Second requested that I remind you. You can't miss it _Logan_, which means that you need to be back by then. There isn't any time to reschedule any missed meetings."

Logan nodded, already returning to his previous position, "Make sure you pick out something nice for her. Little girls still like dolls, right? Maybe you could get her one of those." He took a moment before sitting up, "You got kids?" he asked, realizing in the few years Marcus had worked for him, he hadn't bothered to get to know him very well.

"One. He's a pain in the ass, goes by the name of Logan," Marcus retorted with a chuckle. Logan rolled his eyes and resumed his comfortable position, slightly more annoyed this time around. He wasn't a child.

The rest of the ride was silent. Logan dozed off while Marcus continued to schedule his life. Deep down they both knew that without Marcus, Logan would not have had the success that he was already enjoying so early on in his career. He would have been a simple man living in a modest house with his dog, living off of the slim profits of his one bestseller. With Marcus' help, the young writer has had several novels on the New York Times' bestseller list, becoming a household name.

The pair walked through the airport together until they reached the security checkpoint. "Well this is where I have to say goodbye," Marcus noted, looking at the line of people waiting to be searched. He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a book, "The publishing company thought it might be a nice gesture to give the artists a copy of your first book. This is an advanced copy of the international edition, translated in Spanish, which will be released in the next couple of months overseas. Perhaps on your long flight you can autograph it for them."

Logan nodded and took the book before turning around and getting in the line to go through security. He gave the other man an impatient wave, signaling that it really was time for him to go. Marcus hesitated a moment and then walked off, already pulling out his cell phone to return to business as usual.

Logan quickly got through security and found the flight board, informing him of a delay. Of course. He gently massaged his head as he ran his fingers through his hair and thought about the extra time he could have spent surfing. There was no need for Marcus to rush him so much.

"Oh my gosh!" an excited voice said behind him, "You're Galleon Lochs! I've read all of your books. You were on the Today Show a couple months ago!" He turned around to see a young girl with a huge grin.

He smiled kindly at her before speaking, "Uh, yeah. I am."

"I'm Katie Spencer. I'm like your biggest fan. I have to ask, and I promise I won't tell a single soul if you tell me, but who is B.T? Please? I'll just die if I don't find out. Oh! My! Gosh! If I died right here in this spot, would you write your next book about me? That would be so cool!" she squealed, obviously in shock that she was meeting him, "And let me just say, you are way hotter in person."

Logan let out a breath. He was honestly sick of everyone asking him about 'B.T.' It wasn't as though he regretted dedicating his books to this person, he just never knew it would become such a mystery among his fans. "My next book is already written," he politely answered, ignoring her question. Marcus would probably have a fit with him for revealing that much.

He watched the way her eyes lit up at the mention of a new book and instantly regretted saying anything. Logan started to walk away and noticed that she began to walk with him, "What is it about?" she asked, easily falling into step with him.

"A murder," he answered quickly and vaguely, trying to end the conversation.

Katie laughed. A full, head back, roaring laugh, "Of course it is! You know, no one ever mentions that you're a riot. You'd think that would be something people would say. Would you mind taking a picture with me? My friends will never believe that I ran into you unless I have a picture. Please? Just one picture!"

"Okay, fine. One picture," he conceded, stopping mid-stride so the girl could get out her cell phone. She stood as close as she possibly could to him without actually becoming a single being before holding out her arm as far as it would go to take the shot.

After the flash went off, she pulled her cell phone back to look at the results, "Oh shoot! It's blurry. One more?"

"What the hell, one more, it isn't like I have anywhere I need to be or anything," Logan remarked, waiting for the girl to take another photo. It wasn't like he didn't love his fans. They were great and without them, he certainly wouldn't be standing in that airport. However, Logan simply enjoyed doing regular people things, like going to the airport and impatiently waiting for his delayed flight like the rest of the population in peace. Was that really so much to ask?

He heard the girl squeal in delight again, "This one looks amazeballs. I'm going to instagram it!" she announced.

"Right," Logan agreed, "You do that. I actually need to catch my flight. It was nice meeting you." He quickly walked away and disappeared into a crowd before Katie had a chance to follow him, making a mental note to have Marcus cancel all of his public appearances…ever.

Finding a seat near his gate, he sat down and put his carry on at his feet. Slowly he turned the book Marcus had given him over in his hands before opening the cover and flipping past the first couple of sheets of paper.

_Para B.T._

_ec nx fp bp kb cy_

_hm tp hd oj cs go so uc_

_wa st pf pd wd xk cs kx tj lz hm tp hd au_

_ja wd ja lg rv_

He ran his hands over the text with a smile. Some things just couldn't be translated. One of those things just happened to be seemingly gibberish. It amused him when interviewers, like the hosts of the Today Show, and Katie, just moments ago, were so focused on the identity of B.T. rather than the four lines of perfectly random letters beneath it. The fact that they kept asking indicated that either B.T. had chosen not to be known or simply had not gotten his message.

"Flight 1872 will now begin boarding with the first class cabin. Please have your tickets and passports out," an airline attendant announced breaking him from his thoughts. He shut the book and grabbed his bag before joining the growing line of other impatient passengers ready to board the flight.

In just a few long hours, he would be landing in South America, ready to woo an artist into selling him the rights to a photograph. He couldn't help but feel a mix of nervousness and excitement as he handed over his ticket to board the plane.

* * *

Okay, so anyone who decodes/translates/finds actual meaning in Logan's gibberish gets like five million internets. Or cookies. Or my eternal amazement. You are awesome. But, if you can't, no worries, it will come up again, so be patient. Also... I'm sure that everyone knows what will happen in the next chapter, so get excited!


	10. Chapter 10

First, I would like to thank all of the wonderful marshmallows who gave what they could to the Veronica Mars Movie Project and as a result I truly believe we are going to have an amazing movie. We did it guys!

Second, thank you to everyone who took the time to write a review. You all are lovely. Keep it up! Seriously.

Third, this chapter is probably about twice the size of any chapter this far. So, keep that in mind before starting your read if you hate to be interrupted.

Fourth, this chapter is pretty dark. I would like to give warnings right now. If you don't think you can handle it, maybe pass on this one (even though it is the Logan and Veronica reunion) and I will put a less depressing cliff's notes version at the beginning of the next chapter. Just know that you have been warned.

Finally, thanks to my wonderful beta for reviewing this chapter and all of the rest. You are awesome.

* * *

Chapter 10:

The pair walked quickly into the conference room. The man led the way with an air of confidence and superiority about him. Behind him was a petite female, wrapping her jacket tighter around her small body, as though making herself smaller would help her disappear from the room altogether. They took seats on one side of the table, across from the three men who were already waiting.

"Let's begin," the lawyer announced. He waited a moment for the translator to finish before continuing, "I'm Mr. Winder; I represent Mr. Lochs." He gestured towards the man on his right, who was tapping his pen against the table in front of him in an obvious gesture of annoyance from having to wait.

Adrian nodded and offered a tight smile, "Thank you for joining us Mr. Winder. I am Mr. Illiado and this is my… associate, Nicki. She is the one that arranged this meeting with Mr. Lochs."

Veronica kept her eyes down behind her sunglasses and picked at her nails. She had failed herself. She really did think that she would have been able to come up with a way to sabotage the meeting. At least she didn't have to be an active participant in the selling of what little artistic integrity she had left.

"As a token of our gratitude for this meeting, I would like to offer you a copy of my first novel, soon to be released worldwide and translated in Spanish," Mr. Lochs announced with a rehearsed ease. He slid the book across the table with a little more pomp than the simple action required.

Adrian flipped through it briefly and passed it along to Veronica, whose interest in the meeting suddenly picked up. She lifted her eyes without moving her head and looked at the men sitting across from her for the first time.

On the end was the translator. She could tell based on the lack of materials in front of him on the table. He obviously didn't need to know the details of the transaction, just the words inside of his head. Then there was an older, balder man wearing a nice suit and sporting a few extra pounds. The lawyer. The remaining man leaned back in his chair, casually. He was a lot younger than she expected, given his status as a bestselling author with numerous novels under his belt.

Her eyes traveled up his lean body until they met his face. It couldn't be. Could it? Quickly, she diverted her eyes back to the book and turned it over. There, on the back cover, was the face of the man she had once loved. Why hadn't she seen it before?

Galleon Lochs. Logan Echolls. It wasn't even that clever, just a simple anagram. She dared a quick look back at him to determine if he had recognized her. He couldn't have. She was wearing a large, oversized black jacket with her hair tucked into the hood and large dark sunglasses to cover her eyes. Not to mention the scarf she had wrapped around her neck a few times and casually pulled up over her mouth, her final stand against having a participatory role in this meeting. What was he doing here?

The conversation continued around her as she flipped the book back over to the front. They were discussing something about what the purchased copyrights would entail. Still she said nothing. Instead, Veronica opened the book and flipped past the first few pages until something of interest caught her eye.

_Para B.T._

_ec nx fp bp kb cy_

_hm tp hd oj cs go so uc_

_wa st pf pd wd xk cs kx tj lz hm tp hd au_

_ja wd ja lg rv_

Veronica tilted her head up for a moment and took in the scene before reaching into the center of the table and grabbing a pen. This action caused the writer to lean forward in his chair with curiosity. She uncapped it and tapped it against her chin for a second before translating the first line. "For B.T."

She thought for a moment, and looked at the gibberish below it and a slow smile spread across her face filled with realization.

"_What are you doing?" he asked, pulling a sheet of paper closer to him as he joined her at her table. "Xenolinguistics?" Logan guessed based on the writing._

_She smiled and took a fry from his tray, "Cryptology homework. I have to decode all of these messages by Friday. I was hoping I could get it done now so I could work on Rory Finch later."_

"_Or you could work on me later," he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows. He watched her un-amused reaction before taking the seat next to her and looking back at the sheet of paper. "What does this say anyway?"_

_Veronica took the paper back from him, "Well, first you need a keyword. It could be anything. Then you create a five by five grid and fill in each spot with a letter of the alphabet, starting with the keyword and then going in alphabetical order…" She pointed to a grid she had made for a previous example with the keyword 'ice cream.'_

"_Once you have your grid filled in, you break your message into two letter chunks and encode it. It is called a Playfair cipher," Veronica continued and began straightening her papers. After several minutes she had successfully explained the basics of the cipher to her boyfriend and had him busy encoding his own message, giving her a minute of peace to solve her own problem._

_Logan grinned as he slipped his own message on top of her homework. Veronica looked at it quickly and chuckled before looking back at him, "Bobcat? That is your keyword?"_

_He nodded and dropped his napkin onto his tray, "I have to go to English, but I'll be eagerly awaiting your response." Logan placed a light kiss on the top of her head as he stood before picking up his tray and walking away._

B.T. Bobcat. He used the keyword before. Veronica carefully began writing on the blank page opposite the dedication page, starting with her grid, skipping the second 'B' in bobcat and going through the alphabet.

_ T  
H  
M  
U  
Z_

Once her grid was complete, she moved on to the first pair of letters: EC. Beneath them she wrote 'FO,' and moved on to the next pair. After decoding the first line, Veronica looked up and noticed Logan's posture had changed.

She watched him for a moment as he watched her. He was certainly interested; probably more so because he was still under the impression that she didn't speak English. Slowly, she looked back down and began on the second line.

It wasn't long before she had decoded the entire message.

_For Veronica  
Though we are apart  
You are never far from my thoughts  
Love Logan_

Veronica sat back and looked at her own neat handwriting for a moment, reading and re-reading the words a few times before flipping back a few pages in the book. She slid her finger down the page until she found what she was looking for: the copyright date. The book had been published two years after she left. The blonde flipped back to the previous page and began writing again before tearing the page out of the book completely.

Unfortunately, she wasn't as discreet with that maneuver as she would have liked and suddenly had the attention of the entire room, not just her ex-boyfriend. "What are you doing?" Adrian hissed, watching as she folded the piece of paper.

"If he thinks that we aren't interested, maybe he will offer us more money?" Veronica quickly covered as she folded the piece of paper again. She looked to Logan again and watched him lean towards the translator. If she had to guess, he was asking him what they were saying. Her eyes moved down the line as the other man shrugged and shook his head.

Adrian looked at her for a moment before responding. "Well stop it. If he walks, you will regret this. Do you understand me?" he threatened before closing the small distance between them and placing his hand on top of hers, giving it a warning squeeze under the table. Thankfully her carefully chosen outfit hid any reaction she may have expressed to Adrian's specific brand of "hand holding."

"Well I think that about does it for today," the translator began, standing up, "let's begin again tomorrow morning and see if we can finish this." He held out his hand as Adrian stood to shake it, nodding in agreement. Veronica shook his hand next, silently thankful that he had chosen her left hand to squeeze and not her right.

When she got to Logan, she palmed the folded sheet of paper and passed it along to him, looking towards Adrian as she did. If he suspected anything, there would be hell to pay when they got home.

As soon as the door was shut, he grabbed her by the arm to prevent her from walking off, "What was that?" he demanded.

"I have no idea what you are talking about. Let go of me," Veronica demanded, trying to free herself from his grasp.

He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by Romano bursting through the door, "Juanito just called, he said they're looking for you and they're not happy. I thought you handled this." Romano began pacing the floor in front of them, unable to keep still.

"I am handling it," Adrian responded, freeing Veronica in order to stop his cousin from pacing. He held the other man at the shoulders an arm's distance away from himself. Veronica took a few steps back, placing herself behind the kitchen counter, giving them space.

Romano threw his hands up and backed away, "This is serious, Adrian. I told you not to get messed up with these guys. I told you…" he began but was cut off by the door slamming shut.

The pair of men looked over to see another group of men had joined them. "Where is my money?" the largest of the group asked waving his gun for emphasis.

"Adrian has it. He got it this morning, show them," Romano squeaked, throwing his hands up in the air.

Adrian jabbed Romano in the ribs with his elbow in an attempt to prevent the other man from talking. "What my cousin means to say is that I was supposed to get it this morning but there were… complications," Adrian said, looking towards Veronica, "I will have it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is too late. See, my brother here told me selling to you would be a bad idea. He said that I would never see my money if I gave you the goods upfront. I told him that that isn't the way to run a business. You've got to trust people a little bit. Do you want me to be a liar?" he asked, taking aim with his gun towards Adrian.

Adrian and Romano shook their heads before Adrian spoke, "I will have it tomo—" The rest of his sentence was lost to the bang of the gunshot. The bullet missed him by mere inches and stuck in the wall on the opposite side of the room; a warning.

Reflexively, Romano pulled out his gun and shot at the collectors, missing even worse; he had never been a good shot. Or an okay shot, for that matter. The other men drew their weapons and fired openly on Romano. Instinctively, he ducked down behind the back of the couch for cover, pulling Adrian with him.

In the midst of all the shooting, the door opened again, "Nicki?" a female voice said as she opened the door. Veronica heard her gasp and knew she had taken in the scene in the apartment. The blonde desperately wished she could pull her friend behind the counter with her, but it was too dangerous to move. She wouldn't just be putting her own life on the line.

A neighbor must have called the police because a police siren began to wail outside of their window. Footsteps trailed out the door and down the hall and the sound of gunshots subsided. Slowly, Veronica stood, bracing herself on the counter for support as she looked around. "Leja!" she called out, noticing her friend lying on the ground.

"Get some towels," Veronica called to anyone as she rushed over to her, looking for the wound, "and plastic wrap. Hurry!" Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it was too late. She had been too late to save her father and now she was too late to save her friend. "Please, Leja, please don't do this to me," Veronica sobbed, holding her hands steady and firm on her wound while looking around.

The two men stood frozen behind the couch, the request not even registering in their brains. They watched as she tried in vain to save a life, doing nothing to aid her efforts. They watched as the police pulled her away when the paramedics arrived. They watched the paramedics pull the white sheet over Leja's body, officially pronouncing her dead. They even watched as Veronica gave her statement to the police, placing the entire blame on the collectors, whom she described in detail.

It wasn't until after dark and Veronica had locked herself in the single bedroom of the apartment that they moved. Romano stepped around the blood-stained spot on the floor, closing the door behind him as he left. Adrian collapsed onto the couch, sleep never finding him.

When morning arrived, Veronica left the bedroom, fully dressed and ready to go. Adrian stood up and joined her near the door. With a disproving shake of his head, he finally said something. "Dressing up for your new boyfriend?" he asked, gesturing towards her outfit.

In a change from the scarf and oversized sweatshirt she wore the day before, she wore jeans and a plain, black t-shirt, with her sunglasses hanging from the neck. Veronica looked down at herself before looking back at him, "No?" she asked, rather confused. She wasn't in the mood to dress up at all, not after what happened yesterday.

"I saw you yesterday. You slipped him a little love note. Do you think I'm stupid?" Adrian asked, raising his voice. "If you didn't give it to him, show it to me. Right now. Bring me the page you ripped out of that book."

Veronica crossed her arms, "You're being paranoid again. Maybe you should lay off the drugs for a little while. Might be good for everyone," the looked to the spot on the floor. No one had attempted to clean it. It would stain for sure, a permanent reminder of the life that was no more.

He laughed, "I'm paranoid? Here," he said, grabbing her by her ponytail and reaching for a pair of scissors lying on the counter, "if I'm so paranoid, then you won't mind me doing this. After all, you're not interested in him or anything, so it shouldn't matter how you look." He took the scissors and began hacking away at her hair until her ponytail fell to the floor, "Let's go."

Adrian followed her out of the apartment, stepping over her hair and the stain on the floor before locking the door behind them. Veronica tried to calm herself as she felt the ends of her now short, uneven hair. It was just hair, after all. It would grow back. With a sigh, she pulled the sunglasses from her shirt and put them on. They would make it better.

When they walked into the meeting, the three men from the day before were already there. However, this time Logan was the only one sitting. "Mr. Lochs," the translator began as they walked in, "has requested a private meeting this morning with just her," he pointed to Veronica, "It has come to our attention that she is the photographer and legally she owns the photograph. Thus, it must be her who sells it."

Considering the events of the morning, she knew this could only go badly. Standing only inches from Adrian, she felt his body tense, "Since you are here, I don't supposed Mr. Lochs speaks Spanish," he replied to the man, "How will they communicate?"

"It is our understanding," the translator continued, "that she speaks some English. She was the one who set up this meeting, correct?"

Veronica took a step closer to Adrian, "You said to give him what he wants. If he wants to spend two hours in silence, then let him have it."

He sighed and looked between Logan and Veronica before turning to the interpreter, "Fine. An hour and a half. And the photo is going to cost an extra $1,000." The translator bent down to relay the message and Logan nodded in agreement with the demands. Adrian gave one last warning glare to Veronica before being ushered out with the two other men.

Veronica took her seat across from him at the table. He pulled out the paper she handed him yesterday and smoothed it out with his hands, "You decoded my message. No one has ever done that before. No one…What are you doing here, Veronica?"

She took of her sunglasses and set them on the table in front of her, giving herself a moment before she could look him directly in the eye. "It's complicated, Logan," Veronica began, not really sure where to start, English words feeling foreign on her tongue.

"We were all worried about you: me, Mac, Wallace" he paused for a moment, "Piz. He's married now, by the way." He took another moment, running his hand through his hair, "You went to Virginia and disappeared. Is that what this is? Are you working a case?"

Veronica had never been very good at lying to Logan. He could always see right through her. But there it was, just waiting for her to reach out and grab; the perfect excuse. Well, aside from the fact that the F.B.I. has no jurisdiction outside of the United States… but it didn't seem to bother him. All she had to do was take it. "We're here to discuss a photograph, Logan," she reminded, avoiding the topic. He could think what he wanted.

"I don't care about the picture, Veronica, I care about you," Logan whisper-yelled as he slammed his hand down on the table. "What happened after Virginia?"

She ran a hand through her hair, suddenly reminded of its new length, "I went to the airport. I sat there, with my plane ticket, and I thought about how my dad wouldn't be there to greet me when I got off the plane. I didn't even know if I had a home to _go home_ to. That's when it hit me. I never called my grandmother to tell her that her only child was murdered. So, I traded in my plane ticket for a bus ticket and went to visit her."

_Veronica knocked lightly on the door of the old house as she looked around, trying to remember the last time she had visited. A few years ago when her grandfather died? Was that really the last time? It seemed so long ago._

_She waited for a moment before raising her hand to knock again, a little harder this time. "Grandma Faye?" Veronica called out, "It's me, Veronica."_

_A few moments later the door opened, "Veronica? Is that really you? Is your father with you?" the old woman asked, looking past the girl for her son._

"_Uh, no," Veronica responded, "Can I come inside?" She didn't know. She really didn't know. The old woman slowly moved aside allowing the younger woman to enter._

_Taking in the room, Veronica realized that her grandmother wasn't as young as she used to be. Most of the surfaces were covered in dust, the floors could use a good scrubbing and there was a foul odor coming from an undetermined location in the house. Suddenly she felt worse about the news she needed to share. "Grandma Faye?" she began, "Maybe you could sit down?"_

"_This doesn't sound good. Did you get into a fight with your dad? He can be a little stubborn sometimes, just like his father. Trust me, sweetheart, he loves you and whatever it is, he'll get past it. Let me make you a cup of tea," Faye smiled, moving through her house to the kitchen._

_Veronica dropped her bag near the door before following her grandmother into the kitchen. The rest of the house seemed to be in an equal state of being as the entranceway, dirty and worn. "Why don't you have a seat?" Faye suggested, gesturing towards a chair at the kitchen table, "It will only take a minute. How is school going?"_

"_School is fine, grandma," she responded, allowing herself to take a seat._

_As soon as the kettle was on the stove, the other woman joined Veronica at the table, "What is it that you wanted to talk about, dear?"_

_Veronica took a deep breath and placed her hands over her grandmother's on the table. "I'm not sure how to tell you this, I…" she paused and looked away. She had never said the words before. Finally allowing them to leave her mouth would mean that it was real. He really was gone. Veronica took one of her hands back and wiped away a tear from her eye. "The reason that dad didn't come with me," she started again, "is because he is dead. He was murdered. Grandma, I'm so sorry." Like ripping off a band-aid._

_She couldn't say anymore as a fresh wave of tears left her body. Veronica had never been much of a crier, but lately it was about all she could do._

"_You'll stay here, then, finish school," Faye announced after a moment, "you can have your father's old room. I'm sure this is what he would have wanted." She stood and made her way back over to the stove to pour the hot water for the tea._

Veronica leaned back in her chair after telling her story. She could hardly relate to it anymore, as though it had happened to a character on television, not to herself. Finally, after a pause, she spoke up again, "Why do you want the photo?"

It was Logan's turn to lean back as he ran a hand through his hair. That's a loaded question. He tapped the pen against the side of the table for a moment before responding, "It speaks to me. The girl in the lake, she inspired my latest novel. It's about her."

She smiled. He had noticed. "I took that photo years ago, when I was still in North Carolina. There's this beautiful clearing in the woods with this little abandoned farmhouse near a small lake. When you go there at just the right time, the sun shines through the trees, making the whole place glow. I got an A on that assignment. My professor encouraged me to put my photos out there, so I did. I needed the money."

Logan nodded, understanding from her tone of voice that she didn't want the picture to be sold. "I just…" she continued, "Well, you bought something more recent. My work is going in a different direction and I'd hate to make it big on something that I hate."

"I get it," he said with a knowing nod, "I'll find something else. Don't worry about it." Logan looked down to his watch and frowned, "Our time is almost up." He pulled a business card out of his pocket and wrote something down on it before sliding it across the table, "If you're ever in town, I have a house now, extra bedrooms. Just…just don't feel like you need to be a stranger or sneak around. That is my personal cell phone number, in case you've forgotten."

Veronica nodded. It felt too short. "Her name is Kate," she threw out there, looking towards the door to make sure no one else noticed their time was running out. Looking back at Logan, Veronica noticed the confusion on his face and clarified, "The girl in the lake, her name is Kate."

That was the last thing she said before the three men re-entered the room. They took their seats and waited for someone to speak. Logan leaned over and whispered something to his lawyer, who in turn had quite the shocked expression. Veronica knew what Logan was telling them and looked away.

The translator finally stood, looking only once to the other two men at his side before speaking, "Mr. Lochs has decided that he is no longer interested in purchasing the photograph. He wishes to express his gratitude for your willingness to meet with him; however, at this time he has decided to go in a different direction."

Adrian looked over to Veronica for some sort of explanation and noticed her staring across the table at the author. "We're leaving," he ordered, standing and shoving the chair into the table before walking out of the room. She followed after him, keeping her head down as she slipped her sunglasses over her eyes.

He drove recklessly back to their apartment, his anger growing with each mile that separated them from the meeting. By the time they got home, he was slamming doors and throwing things. "How could you?" he demanded, "After what happened yesterday. They killed her! And now you're letting them come back for more?" He grabbed her as she tried to move away from him, "No, Nicki, not today."

"You killed her!" Veronica yelled back, struggling to free herself from his grasp.

Adrian slapped her across the face before shaking his head and letting out a twisted laugh, "So now I'm a cold blooded murderer? Well, fine, have it your way. You know, you've always been a liability to me. It ends now."

Veronica fought back, trying to free herself from him. Unfortunately, Adrian was easily able to overpower the small blonde. He had the ability to knock her down every time she fought to get back up, and when she finally couldn't, he kicked her a few times for good measure. Finally, he stepped on her hand and smirked in satisfaction at the sickening cracking sound it made as he walked over her on his way to the kitchen to fix himself a drink, pleased that she had learned her lesson this time.

Once his drink was in hand, Adrian continued to the balcony to enjoy it with the setting sun. He always did wonder what Veronica saw in that balcony; now he knew. If he had to live in fear of the collectors returning, the least he could do was make the best of the calm beforehand. It didn't take long for him to pass out, not giving a second thought about his girlfriend just inside the door, beaten and bloody on the floor.

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Next chapter is a Logan chapter. I know this was quite long and we didn't really get much from Logan in it, so I hope that the next chapter can remedy that. As always, reviews are wonderful. A lot happened in this chapter, so feel free to sound off in your review about it. Until next time Marshmallows, stay cool.


	11. Chapter 11

I loved all of your reviews and I'm so happy that so many of you are really getting into this story! To those of you who haven't figured it out yet (and I know this is a large window of time) I generally update sometime between Saturday night and Sunday afternoon, however, I believe there is some sort of button you can press that will send an e-mail to you whenever I do get to publishing my chapters. And I guess Saturday night/Sunday afternoon is relative to time zones, of course.

I am really excited about this chapter, to be quite honest. I kind of prefer the Logan chapters and I think you guys do too. Originally, this was just a short piece and I was really conflicted with where I wanted to take it, but thanks to my lovely betas, I rewrote it and I must say, I like version two a heck of a lot better.

One final note, something my beta brought to my attention, I use the term "aughts" in this story. For those of you who don't want to look it up, it is a term used to describe the first decade of a century, or in the context that I use it, the decade spanning from 2000 to 2009. Just a little FYI. Another term, and I've been led to believe this one is more popular in the U.K. is "naughts" but I cannot confirm this as I've never been to the U.K. So, without further ado, enjoy!

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Chapter 11:

Logan sat in the backseat of the taxi cab on his way back to the airport. The meetings were over. It was done. There certainly wasn't any reason to stay in town any longer; that was obvious. Except to maybe catch a few waves. The view from his window proved that is was a beautiful day, clear blue sky with a hint of a breeze. There were probably a million good surfing spots nearby; he could rent a board and go out for a few hours, clear his head from the meetings that afternoon. Veronica, in the flesh, sitting across the table from him. He had half a mind to run back in there, throw her over his shoulder and bring her back with him. Marcus would probably blow a fuse if he did. Did he really have to know? Logan ran a hand through his hair and sunk into the seat. His phone began buzzing right on cue and he sighed.

Logan looked at the I.D. and tossed his phone aside, preferring to be alone with his thoughts despite the fact that many of them were about a spunky blonde that he used to know. Was Neptune really that terrible in her mind that _that_ was preferable?

"_Veronica!" he called out, pounding on the door with his fist, "Veronica, I know you're in there." He continued to knock. She hadn't left the house since it had happened. That was a week ago. If she was eating, she'd be running out of food by now. If she wasn't, he had bigger problems to deal with. He shook the bag of takeout in his hand, "I have your favorite: lasagna. All yours if you open the door." _

"_I know you think that you're alone, but you're not," he said, sliding down the door until he sat on the ground, setting the bag next to him, "there are a lot of people out here who care about you."_

_He sighed and gently banged his head against the door, picking up one of the unclaimed newspapers that littered the ground. The headline naturally referenced the murder of the recently elected sheriff._

_Logan flipped a few pages in, scanning the headlines as he went until another one piqued his interest._

_**BODY OF WOMAN FOUND IN ALLEY NOW IDENTIFIED**_

_**The body of a woman found a week ago in an alleyway outside of Java the Hut coffeehouse was positively identified as LIANNE MARS, of Neptune, CA., ex-wife of recently deceased Sheriff KEITH MARS, also of Neptune. She is survived by their only daughter, VERONICA MARS. The official cause of death is still to be determined, although foul play is suspected. It is undetermined at this time whether or not the death of Ms. Mars is related to that of Sheriff Mars. Anyone with information regarding the suspicious death of Ms. Mars is encouraged to contact the Neptune Sheriff's Department. No memorial service has been planned as of this printing.**_

_He crumpled the pages and tossed the newspaper aside before standing. "Veronica!" Logan called out with desperation. "You can't run from everything, you know. Eventually something is going to catch up to you and you're going to have to deal with it," he continued, giving the door one last good pound. She had to have known. She's Veronica Mars, after all._

_For a second, he thought about breaking down the door. It was a cheap apartment; it wouldn't be hard to do. Although that kind of forceful action would probably result in her __**actually**__never speaking to him again. After a few hours and not a single sound from inside, he sighed and pulled out his cell phone, knowing she wouldn't answer but hoping anyway._

Logan wasn't sure how long Veronica had followed the investigation into her father's murder. Did she know that the new sheriff, Vinnie Van Lowe, had pinned it on her mother, who conveniently could not defend herself? Or while early reports of her mother's death suspected foul play, the official finding was a drug overdose?

At the time, he followed the story in the newspapers casually, skimming the articles when they appeared in the paper. However, when the stories stopped appearing, he did little to continue following the case. Even as an average citizen, he found that some of the so-called "facts" did not add up.

He undoubtedly wasn't a detective, not in the least, but given his proximity to the family over the years, the story certainly did interest him. Logan closed his eyes for a moment, leaning back into the seat as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. How could she end up like this? Like an entirely different person?

Shifting a little in his seat, he reached for his cell phone to call Marcus back. "I have an idea for my next book," Logan informed as soon as the other man answered.

He could hear the sounds of Marcus' disapproval through the phone before he spoke, "Mr. Echolls, how about we finish the projects that we've started before adding more to the mix?"

"Schedule a meeting with my publisher, will you? I'd like to get a jump on this while I have it," Logan ran his finger absentmindedly along a seam in the seat. His next book would be about the murder of the sheriff of a small town. The suspected killer would be his ex-wife, in a fit of jealousy and rage, but it is their detective daughter that solves the case and clears her estranged mother's name and finally puts the real killer behind bars for the rest of his life. Perhaps one day he could even turn it into a Lifetime movie.

"Mr. Echolls, what happened at the meeting today?" Marcus asked, trying to bring the conversation around.

He thought for a moment before answering, "Her name is Kate. The girl in the photo, her name is Kate. Don't you think that is a little weird? The girl in my vision called herself Katerina. That's pretty similar to Kate." A little too similar…

Marcus took a moment to process the information before responding, "Kate is a pretty common name, Mr. Echolls. How did you find this out?"

"Ver—The photographer, she mentioned it," Logan responded with a slight annoyance in his voice. How else would he know? Some days he was thankful that Marcus had spent most of the early to mid-aughts in the middle east, fighting the war. He had missed many of the breaking news stories that shaped his teenage years. Though Logan had always wondered what sort of background information the publishing company gave him in their briefing, he knew it had little to do with Lilly, Duncan, or Veronica and more to do with his current lifestyle choices.

"Mr. Echolls…" Marcus started, "Did you feel the need to ask her that to confirm the validity of your alcohol-induced dream?"

Logan rolled his eyes, "I didn't ask her. She offered it to me." She always did seem to understand him. What was he doing? He shouldn't be thinking about her. Veronica Mars was an F.B.I. agent deep undercover in South America. Off limits. One wrong move and he would blow her cover, letting a criminal roam free. The Veronica he knew would never forgive him for that.

"Did you sleep with her? Is that why she refused to sell you the picture? Mr. Echolls, how many times must I tell you that using your man parts, however lovely they may be, is not a way to get ahea—gain advantage," Marcus quickly corrected himself of a terrible pun that would not go unnoticed by his client, "in this business."

Logan exhaled and looked out the window. Marcus was half right: he did sleep with her, just not while in South America. Was it related to the fact that he was now coming back picture-less, perhaps? If it had been anyone else on the planet he probably wouldn't have given a second thought outside of fulfilling his own desires. After a moment of watching the scenery go by, he refocused his attention to the phone call, "I decided that I wasn't interested in the picture anymore. Mr. Henshley had some pretty good designs, why don't you call him back up and see if we can work something out. Maybe he's onto something with those boats." Maybe, if his book was actually about boats. Could he change the ending to include a boat? A Viking burial, perhaps? No, of course not.

"Logan," Marcus offered, without needing to be prompted, "I've worked for you ever since you made the mistake of showing up to an important meeting three days late, drunk. I know you. I know you better than you think and I know that you hated every last one of those designs. I know that you especially hated the one with the boats." There was a pause on the other end of the line before Marcus continued, "And Mr. Winder told me about the note. Did they threaten you? We can do something if they threatened you."

Of course that would be the route that Marcus chose, "How long are you going to hold that over my head? And technically I wasn't drunk, I was hung over. There is a difference my schedule-loving friend."

"What did the note say?" Marcus questioned again, refocusing the conversation back to the present.

Did the airport get farther away? He remembered it being closer to the hotel when he had landed. Logan ran a hand through his hair and then down his face, exhaling deeply, "It was personal, okay? Just between me and her and I'd like to keep it that way."

He didn't feel like talking about it right now. The events were still fresh in his mind, he still needed time to process everything. It was like seeing a ghost. No. It was worse than seeing a ghost. Ghosts aren't real. The girl that he saw, sitting across from him at that table, she's real, just different from the girl he remembers. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the folded page from the book she had given him. That was real.

Slowly he unfolded the page and smoothed it out over his leg. Logan ran his fingers over her careful print. Granted, if she hadn't handed him the paper herself, he probably wouldn't have known who it was from. They never really were big on hand-written correspondence.

"_What is this, dude?" Dick asked, pulling a box out of the in-room safe. Though their time at the Neptune Grand had been… well grand, they both felt it was time to move on. Together they had picked out a nice house on the beach to be their bachelor pad. It was big enough that they each could have their privacy when the moment struck, but not so large that they would never see each other._

_Logan looked up from the box he was currently packing. Perhaps he shouldn't have procrastinated so long on packing, then he wouldn't need Dick's 'help' to be out by the end of the day. Truth be told, a part of him was afraid to move. What if she came back here looking for him? "If I have to stop and explain every little thing to you, we're not going to be finished by checkout," Logan warned, "Just put it in a box and I'll look at it later."_

_Instead of following his best friend's request, the blonde surfer opened the box. Inside was a small ring with a simple cut diamond. "Something you're not telling me?" Dick asked, showing Logan the opened box._

_At this the other man tossed the shirt in his hands haphazardly into the box he was packing before lunging at the ring, "Give me that."_

_Dick held it above his head as though it would prevent the taller man from reaching it. Logan, easily grabbed it from his friend's hand and slammed the box shut, "It's nothing, okay?"_

"_Seriously? I thought you were over her. She's been gone over a year, it's been longer since you guys were together. Give it up already," Dick commented, reaching into the safe for any other important possessions._

_Logan rolled his eyes, "I bought it when we were still together. I just thought… It doesn't matter. It was stupid. I was stupid. I slept with Madison." He looked at the box once more before tossing it into the box Dick was packing along with the rest of the contents of the safe, including the note to go along with the ring. He had planned a 'scavenger hunt' of sorts for her to find her ring, since she loved mysteries so much. "Finished," he commented, closing the safe before stepping back to the box of clothes he was packing._

She hadn't written much else outside of the solution to his code, just a few sentences for him, which he supposed were in case they didn't get a chance to talk privately.

_Spanning years and continents, right?_

_I'm sorry._

_I'm fine._

_I would have preferred a bow._

The first line was vaguely familiar to him, as though he had heard it someplace before, but it gave him hope. Hope about them? Hope about her returning to Neptune? He wasn't really sure.

He was glad he had the second line in writing, because issuing an apology meant that she was in the wrong; something Veronica Mars never did. This certainly would be useful in future arguments. Future arguments? Would there be any future arguments? How could he just assume they would engage in future arguments when he was leaving her behind? Who knows when or even if he would see her again? This thought brought a feeling of sadness to his chest as he continued reading.

The third line was less reassuring than it was meant to be. This was Veronica, after all. Always insisting everything was okay when it wasn't. Thinking of her appearance at the meeting, concern flashed across his face. The F.B.I. probably gave her a handler of sorts, so if anything too serious went down, she would at least have a little back up, right? They wouldn't just dump her here and leave until she caught the bad guys on her own, would they? Well, Veronica never was known for her ability to play well with others.

The final line caused his face to light up and a chuckle to escape his lips. She was still buried in there somewhere. His Veronica. His snarky, sarcastic, perfect Veronica was still alive, at least on some level, and he knew one day he would see her again.

Looking up from the page he noticed the cab had joined the line of traffic waiting to enter the small airport. Taking a second, Logan carefully refolded the page, just as she had before, and placed it in his pocket before leaning forward to the driver's compartment.

He hoped against all odds that this cabby knew even a little English. Taking one last glance around him, he whispered something into the driver's ear. At the old man's nod, he relaxed back into his seat. His time in South America was about to be extended just a little longer.

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As per my usual begging and pleading (insert pouty Veronica face here, resistance is futile my friends) please review. You guys truly inspire me to write more, work harder, and want to bring you the best possible work I can do. And when I don't think it is my best work, I feel really guilty all week. So seriously, you guys are my muse, and anything you have to say, good or bad, I love hearing it. I believe the lovely thought box is somewhere below here. So, if you could, type a few words (or more than a few, that's cool too) and hit submit. You guys are seriously the best. Until next week...


	12. Chapter 12

Hello all, I'm going to keep it brief because I want to get this up before I go to bed and I've had a super long day so I'm really tired. Thank you all for your wonderful reviews. You are the best.

Just to note, Veronica is not undercover, she simply let Logan believe that so he wouldn't worry about her. She is not part of the F.B.I. and I'm fairly certain they do not have jurisdiction in South America.

So, enjoy!

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Chapter 12:

"_Where were you?" Adrian growled, grabbing her by the arm, pulling her closer to him when she walked through the door._

_She struggled to free herself from his grasp, "I was out, calm down." She looked between her arm and him, before using her other hand in an attempt to pry his hand off of her body. The F.B.I. training sessions flashed through her mind: what to do when a suspect has a grasp on you, but he wasn't a suspect, he was her boyfriend._

"_Out where?" he demanded, slapping her prying fingers away. "This isn't Beverly Hills or wherever the fuck you're from. It is dangerous here. You can't just go wandering around by yourself." He loosened his grip a bit and took a deep breath before rubbing his hand across his face, "I'm sorry. I was just worried about you."_

_He let her go and she stepped back, rubbing the bruised spot, anger still flaring in her eyes, "I'm trying to protect you. Not everyone is friendly here, and your Spanish still isn't great. At least take Leja with you."_

_She didn't say another word and simply walked to the freezer, searching for an ice pack to place on her arm. Coming up short, she settled on a bag of frozen peas instead._

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Veronica's eyes fluttered open at the sound. She didn't remember setting an alarm. As her conscious slowly returned to her, she realized that that was not the sound her alarm clock made. Then the pain came, sharp and stabbing, across her body, everywhere all at once.

That was all she needed to remind her. Adrian was angry, angrier than she'd seen him before. He knocked her down, kicked her…then nothing. She struggled to remember anything after that moment.

The blonde looked for any sign around the room to jog her memory of how she arrived. On the plastic chair next to her bed sat her bag. Did she bring herself here?

"You're awake," a nurse said, walking into the room, interrupting her thoughts. She pushed a button on the heart monitor to make the beeping stop. "Do you remember what happened? Do you know your name? Do you know what day it is?"

"Water," Veronica finally said after the nurse's bombardment of questions. The woman nodded and filled a glass with water before bringing it to her.

Veronica reached for the glass and felt a pain shoot through her arm. Glancing down she noticed the extent of her injuries. Letting out an annoyed breath, she checked her other arm for any noticeable injuries before taking the glass from the nurse and bringing it to her lips.

After downing the entire glass, she placed it on the bedside table, "How long have I been out?"

The nurse shrugged, "About two days ago you wandered in here. You were pretty messed up, like you lost a fight. It was touch and go for a while, but we were able to stop the internal bleeding. I should really go get the doctor."

Veronica's hand fell to her stomach at the nurse's mention of internal bleeding and her eyes went wide. "We had to deliver the baby," the nurse supplied, noticing her actions. She reached into the front pocket of her scrubs and pulled out a Polaroid photo.

"It is a boy," she continued handing the photo to her, "I'm going to go and get the doctor. You should think of a name for him."

She held the picture in her good hand, afraid to look at it. It was so early and she hadn't taken care of herself in the best way possible in the time that he did have. He was probably tiny, covered in tubes and wires, fighting to survive… if he wasn't dead already.

Another part of her was curious. Did he have her nose? Or Adrian's eyes? Perhaps her father's chin? Maybe a resemblance to Leja? Poor, poor Leja. How would all of that look rolled together? She wished she had someone there with her.

Her mind immediately went to Logan. He was probably back in Neptune by now, still thinking she was under the watchful eye of the F.B.I. Why didn't she just tell him? Right, because Veronica Mars doesn't need anyone.

Before she could allow her mind to wander too far, the doctor stepped in, bringing her back to the present, "Hello, I'm Dr. Sanchez," he extended his hand out to her before realizing the difficult situation he put them in and settled on saving instead. "If it is all right with you, I would like to discuss your injuries first, and then we can talk about your son. Okay?"

Veronica nodded sending a wave of pain and dizziness through her body, before making a mental note that it was a terrible idea. Her good hand traveled to her head and felt the bandage there. She let out a defeated breath at the realization she would probably never know past the obvious source of Adrian what caused her injuries. Was her head wound the result of her hitting her head on the floor when she passed out or the result of him kicking her in the head?

"Your arm is fractured, most likely from falling on it. We've splinted it and it should be better in a few weeks, provided you limit your use of it. We put seven stitches in the back of your head, which you will need to have removed and you're probably feeling like you have a migraine. That is normal and should wear off soon," Dr. Sanchez flipped through her chart as he continued to address all of her injuries and new limitations until she healed.

Luckily Veronica was able to follow most of his Spanish, but a few words did trip her up. Obviously those warnings would have to be ignored. "Now, about your son," Dr. Sanchez continued, shifting to the other clipboard in his hand, "he has quite the battle ahead of him. His lungs are quite underdeveloped so he will be on a ventilator for the time being and hopefully the medications we have given him will help correct that. We have him on a heart monitor as a precaution as we are still running tests to determine the extent of his underdevelopment. If he does get through this, and that is a big if, he could be looking at suffering from asthma, blindness and possibly hearing loss. It is still too early to tell. Unfortunately, we can't offer him any more than we are already doing at this hospital. We simply aren't prepared to deal with cases like his."

About halfway through his speech, Veronica zoned out. This whole thing seemed surreal: having a son. A very sick son at that. A son that probably wouldn't survive through the week. Perhaps that is what she deserves, for keeping him a secret, to not have him at all.

Her fingers fell to the forgotten Polaroid. With a deep breath, she flipped it over and allowed her eyes to fall on his face for the first time. Though she had never been one for crying, tears streamed down her face at the site of her little boy. "Can I…" she paused, took in a breath and met the doctor's eyes, "Can I see him?"

He ran a hand through his hair as he thought it over. "I guess I don't see any harm in that," he responded, finally before looking into the hallway for a nurse and coming up empty, "I will see what I can do."

Veronica offered a slight nod before returning her eyes to the photo. He was definitely tiny. She wondered if it was solely because he was premature, her early drug use, or if her genes were at play in his size. Would he have been larger if she had taken better care of herself? If she had left Adrian sooner?

His eyes were closed, though she assumed they would be brown, like Adrian's. It was unlikely that her blue eyes would carry through given their pairing. His hair was certainly dark like Adrian's. Would he be a constant reminder of Adrian?

Her thoughts continued to flow as she inspected every inch of the infant presented in the small photograph, as though she needed to commit them to memory. When she tore her eyes away, the doctor had disappeared from the room.

"_Why didn't you get rid of them?" Adrian asked, shoving her against the wall by her throat, "That is your job, Nicki."_

_She looked away and struggled to keep breathing as he gripped her tighter. "Look at me when I am talking to you!" he demanded, slapping her across the face. Out of instinct, she elbowed him in the nose before twisting out of his grasp and running._

_Stumbling only for a moment, he grabbed her foot with one hand while holding the other to his nose. She fell to the ground with a loud thunk and still tried to wiggle away. "Let me go!" she screamed, thrashing against him, hoping to loosen his grip._

"_You have one job, Nicki. You're supposed to pretend you only speak English and convince them that they have the wrong address. That's it. You failed at such a simple task," he pulled on her foot, bringing her closer to him before twisting her ankle until an audible crack echoed through the empty apartment, "Try to run away again and I will make sure you never run again. Unlike you, I actually have follow through."_

Veronica's eyes fluttered open. How much time had passed? Suddenly she longed for a room with a window. Her eyes travelled to the clock on the wall. After a moment she realized the second hand kept flicking back and forth, never actually moving forward in its rotation around the face.

Looking down, she noticed the Polaroid still tucked into her hand. So, this wasn't all just a terrible dream. She flipped it over again and stared at his face. Her son. He was somewhere in this hospital, or so she hoped.

Had Adrian located them yet? Had he taken the baby away from her? She refused to allow her mind to wander down the path of 'what ifs.' Instead she would focus on the what is. She is in a hospital. She is the mother of an innocent little boy. She is in _pain_.

Sliding her hand over, careful not to injure it further, she reached for the call button. Though, looking around, it was doubtful that it actually functioned, but it was certainly worth a shot. After a few minutes of no response, she tried it again.

Frustrated, Veronica closed her eyes and began a mental assessment of her injuries based on the origin of pain. Her head and her hand were a given as she travelled lower, her abdomen. Legs felt to be in working order, confirmed with a toe wiggling.

Taking one last look towards the door, she let out a breath and removed the blankets that covered her. Slowly, she sat up and pushed her legs over the side of the bed. Pushing through the new discomfort created by moving, she stood up and grasped onto the bed railing with her good hand for support.

Shifting her weight forward a bit, she reached out for the chair her bag was sitting on. With just a few more inches, her fingers came in contact with the chair and she allowed her feet to shuffle forward, inch by agonizing inch. Almost there. The contents of that bag would determine if she brought herself in or if Adrian grew a conscience while she was unconscious and dumped her here himself.

Just a few more steps and she would be able to sink in the chair and rest for a minute. If her bag contained anything from the air vent she would have her answer: she brought herself there. Though, unfortunately, the converse could not be proven definitively.

Suddenly gravity took over and she could feel herself go limp, helpless to prevent herself from falling. Well, maybe the sound will get a nurse's attention…

"_No, she's cool with this. We have that kind of relationship," Adrian grinned, looking back over his shoulder at Veronica before giving his full attention back to the model in front of him._

_The model smiled and twisted a strand of her hair in her fingers, "That's like really cool. You're like really hot." She leaned in and slipped a hand behind his head, gently pushing him closer for a kiss._

_Veronica crossed her arms and stood up, "I hope you're aware that sleeping with him won't actually get you featured in this photo shoot."_

_The model looked between Adrian and Veronica, "I thought you said she was cool with this. You said this would help my career."_

_Adrian stood up and grabbed Veronica by the arm, dragging her away from the scene, "What did I tell you about putting your nose where it doesn't belong?" He placed his hand at her throat as he slammed her into the nearest wall. "You know what happens to people like that? They get killed," he warned, lingering for a second before releasing her._

_As she walked away, her grabbed her again and spun her around. "Look at me," he ordered and slapped her across the face when she refused, "I own you. Without me, you would be nothing, just rotting in a jail cell. The least you can do is be grateful," he spat before shoving her away from himself._

"Veronica," a female voice called out, "Veronica?"

Slowly she opened her eyes and looked around, realizing that she had yet again passed out. Standing near her bed was the nurse from earlier, behind a wheelchair. "The doctor said I shouldn't wake you but…" she trailed off, inching the wheelchair closer before stepping around it.

Hesitantly, she looked back towards the open door to the room before turning back to Veronica, "Your son, he took a turn for the worse this morning. He's stable now, but I don't know how much longer. I just thought that maybe… maybe you'd like to see him before… well he could…" she looked to her hands and began fidgeting.

The blonde understood exactly what the nurse was getting at: her four month premature baby with a drug problem probably wasn't going to live much longer. She should go and see him while he was still alive. "Have you picked a name?" the nurse asked, after a moment of silence.

"Gabriel, after the angel," Veronica replied, scooting herself closer to the edge of the bed so the nurse could help her into the wheelchair, "Gabriel Alejandro."

The nurse nodded and moved behind the wheelchair, "I will put that on his birth certificate."

"How did you…" Veronica started as she looked around the hospital outside of her room, "How did you know my name?"

"It was on your I.D., in your bag. I didn't mean to snoop, but you came in all alone and I thought maybe if I knew your name it would help you get better," she explained as she pushed her to the nursery.

Veronica leaned over and looked in the incubator next to where the nurse parked her wheelchair. Inside, her tiny baby struggled to keep breathing. "Can I hold him?" she asked, looking between the several doctors and nurses in the room.

They shared glances before a doctor joined them, "I'm Dr. Martinez. I was assigned to your son…"

"Gabriel," she supplied for him, feeling little better about finally giving him a name.

He nodded, "I was assigned to Gabriel's case. Right now he cannot breathe without the assistance of this machine," he pointed behind him and allowed his finger to follow the tube that went into the baby, causing his chest to rise and fall dramatically. "His lungs are quite underdeveloped. This wire is monitoring his heart. Over the past couple of hours we've noticed that it has become…" he looked at her and paused, "irregular" he chose, which she could only assume was due to his decision that her understanding of Spanish was lacking, though he wouldn't be too far off.

Veronica found herself nodding more than she would have liked to. "Can I hold him?" she repeated, cutting off his report of Gabriel's problems.

Dr. Martinez turned around and opened the incubator. Being mindful of the various tubes and wires entering and exiting the child, he lifted him from the bed and placed him into his mother's waiting arms for the first time.

She smiled down at the baby in her arms, well, arm. He wasn't large enough to fill both arms, which worked out just as well, since only one of hers was functional at the moment. It was ironically perfect.

The nurse picked up the old Polaroid camera from the nearby table and held it up to take a picture of their special moment, "so you can remember this moment forever," she noted. She took the photo from the front of the camera and waved it slightly as it developed.

Suddenly the monitors started beeping and the doctor bent over Veronica, removing the baby from her lap. The nurse dropped the picture to the floor as she rushed over to assist the doctor. Several other staff members quickly joined them.

Veronica leaned forward, reaching out with her good hand, and picked up the photo the nurse had dropped. "Someone get her out of here!" Dr. Martinez called from behind her as the beeping continued. Quickly another nurse came over and pulled her out of the room, returning her to her own.

"My name is Carla. I'm sure your son is going to be just fine. Those alarms have been going off all day, and every time he always bounces back," the nurse noted as she stopped in Veronica's room. "Why don't you try to get some rest, you'll need all the energy you can get to heal so you can take care of your little one," Carla continued, helping Veronica from the wheelchair to the hospital bed.

"Can you…" Veronica started as Carla was about to leave, "Can you stay for a minute?" Carla looked around and nodded before pulling the chair with Veronica's bag closer to the bed. "You can just hand that to me," Veronica said, avoiding an awkward situation.

Carla nodded again and handed the bag over. "I've been watching him all morning. He's quite the fighter, that little guy. He must have someone upstairs looking out for him," Carla explained, touching the cross she wore around her neck and looking up. Veronica couldn't help but laugh; someone was certainly right. How about an army of someones?

The pair looked up at the knock on the door. Dr. Martinez sent Carla a look, causing her to quickly stand and exit the room. "Veronica?" he began, walking closer to her, "I'm sorry. We couldn't revive him, his lungs were just too underdeveloped and his heart was under too much stress. We did everything that we could, but your son, Gabriel, didn't make it."

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I know, just when you think Veronica's life can't get any worse, her son dies.

Review! Your words keep me going (I wrote all of the first draft for Chapter 16 this week, yeah, you guys are that awesome). I love reading your thoughts and feeling your emotions along with you. Thank you all for keeping me going. Until next week...


	13. Chapter 13

Guess what guys? It is a Logan chapter. Yeah, I know how much you love those. Haha.

As always thanks to my lovely betas for the grammar checking and the idea bouncing and everything in between, because without them you would think that a second grader with adhd wrote this.

Anyway, without further ado, here it is!

Well, one more ado. I know I normally put this up on Saturday night but... FELIZ CINCO DE MAYO! Boom. Enjoy your day lovelies.

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Chapter 13:

"Isn't this a little late for a child's birthday party?" Logan asked Dick as he exchanged the present he brought for a drink. In complete honesty, he wished the drink was a little stronger than the house wine, Dick's own blend made on site, the perks of owning a vineyard.

Dick shrugged and put the present down on a table, "She isn't here. She's at her grandma's this weekend. Clover and I thought…"

"You're celebrating your daughter's birthday and she isn't even here?" he clarified, knocking back the glass of wine in one large gulp and immediately looking for another. Logan could already tell this was going to be an interesting birthday party.

Dick led him through the house, not noticing as Logan exchanged glasses with a passing server. Naturally, Dick would have hired people to serve drinks at his baby's birthday party. With a shake of his head, he knocked back another and returned it to a different server's tray.

By the time Logan reached the bar in the den, he had already downed more glasses of wine than he cared to admit. "So what do you think of it? We had a pretty good year, don't you think?" Dick asked, referring to the wine, "Oh wait… Clo!" he called out to his wife.

Logan rolled his eyes and poured himself a real drink from the bar as Dick pulled Clover away from a man that was definitely not her brother. Sometimes he wondered how Dick could be so oblivious to his wife's obvious flirting. "Logan was just telling me what he thought of our wine, I thought you'd like to hear it, dear," Dick said, returning with his wife at his side.

"Please, I'd love your honest opinion," Clover smiled, "I think half of the people here are too afraid to be honest. I suppose that is what we get for inviting your employees, Richard." She laughed lightly and rested her hand on Dick's chest, allowing the diamond from her engagement catch the light, causing it to sparkle. She didn't normally wear it; it was too flashy for day-to-day life. However, on special occasions, she added it to her ring finger, just above her wedding band. Logan had a feeling, despite Clover's protests to the contrary, that money did play a factor in her decision to marry his best friend.

Looking around the room, Logan realized that he didn't recognize a single face outside of Dick and Clover. Apparently they were socializing with a new group these days. Or they really weren't in Neptune anymore. "It is…" Logan began before Clover pulled in another person to their conversation, interrupting him.

"This is my friend Talia, she illustrates children's books. Rachel just loves her work," Clover put her arm around her friend's waist, "And Logan, here, is Richard's oldest friend. He's a writer. This is like a match made in heaven!"

Talia smiled warmly and offered a small wave, choosing to remain in the protective custody of her friend's embrace. Clover whispered something in her ear, causing her eyes to widen and her smile to fall. She focused on Logan, indicating that the secret was about him.

Logan raised his eyebrows before finishing his drink. By the time he put the empty glass down on the bar for a refill, Dick and Clover had moved on to harass another friend. Talia stood before him, expectantly, her blue eyes staring at him. "So," Logan began, running a finger around the rim of his glass, "How did you meet Clover?"

"We go to church together," Talia responded, looking around the room, "My father is the minister." Logan followed her gaze and noticed Dick and Clover across the room. He chuckled to himself; Talia wasn't into this setup either, she was simply being polite. Whatever Clover had told her before would not be helping him score with her this evening. "How do you know Richard?" she asked, returning her focus to him.

He shrugged and downed his second _real_ drink of the evening, "We went to school together. Sometimes Dick and I would go surfing in Mexico."

A couple of graphic stories and even more drinks later and Talia excused herself to "powder her nose." Logan smiled, picked up his drink, and began stumbling through the party. He didn't even want to come to this, but he figured with Dick there would probably be a stupid clown or a slightly terrible magician at the party for entertainment. Instead he was surrounded by church friends and business partners. And no birthday girl.

It wasn't long before a pair of strong hands removed the glass from his hands and dragged him out of the party. "What the hell, man?" Logan asked when they reached the front lawn.

"Get in the car, Mr. Echolls. I think you've had enough," Marcus responded sternly. As Logan's oldest friend, Dick knew the signs that Logan was reaching his limit and called Marcus. Despite the fact that Logan was usually the one calling a ride for Dick over the years, lately it was Logan who needed the ride home.

Using a little more force than necessary, he shoved the younger man into the waiting car, thankful for remembering to have the driver activate the child-locks earlier in the evening. As soon as he closed the door behind him, the driver pulled out of the driveway, beginning their lengthy ride home.

"I loved her, you know," Logan said, running his finger along the bottom of the window, "like really loved her. I was going to ask her to marry me."

Marcus sighed and shifted slightly in his seat to look at his client better. He looked as though he had been crying. "You just met her," Marcus responded, confused. Whoever he was rambling about was most likely someone he had just spoken to at the party.

Logan shook his head and sat back in the seat, his eyes unfocused as he gazed out the window. "You were in the military, right?" he finally asked after a moment of silence, shifting his head to look at his assistant.

"Yes…" Marcus drew out his answer, not sure where this line of questioning was heading. He had never seen Logan this way. Although he had experienced drunk Logan on more occasions than he would have liked, drunk Logan was usually jovial and the life of the party. This Logan almost scared him.

Logan smiled, "So, your buddies, from over there, you have this bond with them, right? Like something no one else could understand?"

"I guess so," Marcus responded, looking away from Logan's gaze and busying himself in his planner. How much further was Neptune?

He let out a haggard breath, "We were kind of like that; like soldiers in a war. We watched our squad disappear, battle after battle, until we were the only two left." _Then we fought each other._ Marcus nodded and jotted down a note in his planner to remind himself to ask about this mysterious person later, when Logan wasn't drunk.

When they finally reached Logan's house, Marcus helped the still inebriated man into the house and up the stairs to his bed. At least this way he could rest easily knowing that his client would not be getting himself into anymore trouble that evening.

Satisfied that Logan would sleep this off, Marcus shut off the lights and locked the door behind him before returning to the car. Extra coffee would definitely be needed when he returned in seven… no six hours.

Marcus grumbled as he stepped over a sleeping body on the front step, trying to balance his grande coffees and fish out his keys. Neptune had been having quite the homeless problem lately. Making sure to lock the door behind him, Marcus exchanged the coffees for an empty bottle on the small table near the door and sighed.

Looking around, he noticed several others on previously vacant surfaces around the house. Apparently Logan had not stayed in bed as he had hoped. "Mr. Echolls?" Marcus called out, following the trail of bottles, collecting each one as he went.

After depositing the bottles near the sink for the maid to dispose of later, he continued to search the rest of the house for Logan. "Mr. Echolls?" he called out again as he took to the stairs, keeping a careful eye out for Dick, who always seemed to appear at the most inopportune times.

Passed out in the chair in his bedroom sat Logan, glass overturned on the floor next to him. Open across his lap was an old photo album. On the bed, where Marcus had left Logan, lay a very content Dick. With a sigh, he picked up the glass and set it on the nearby dresser before removing the album from the other man's lap.

The pink, floral nature of the album cover seemed curious to Marcus: it wasn't a design that he would have pegged his client to pick out. Before closing the book, he looked down at the pages where Logan had stopped.

He looked down at the smiling faces. The easiest to identify was Logan, he hadn't changed much in appearance since these were taken. Although he didn't know much of the story, due to the fact he had been overseas at the time Lilly Kane was also easy to identify. Her face had been plastered all over the news for so long, who wouldn't be able to identify her? He shrugged, who knew they were friends?

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Dick, Marcus looked over a few more pages. Or more than friends. The other man present in most of the photographs had to be Lilly's brother… _What was his name?_ He had been accused at one time of killing his sister and then fleeing the country. Something about kidnapping a baby? Not to mention he was the heir to the Kane fortune. His face would occasionally appear on the television or in the newspaper along with a story urging anyone who knew anything to call a hotline.

The other blonde, however, Marcus had no idea who she was, but she certainly looked familiar. He had never seen Logan as happy as he looked in those photos. Perhaps this was the "squad" Logan had mentioned the night before, making Lilly Kane the girl he had been talking about in his drunken stupor.

"What are you doing?" Logan asked, standing a little too quickly from his chair and stumbling.

Marcus looked up, "You need to get in the shower. We have a full morning of meetings and possibly some damage control from last night."

Logan took the album out of Marcus' hands, "I don't recall giving you permission to snoop through my things."

Marcus laughed and closed the book, "So how old were you when you went through you pink phase, Mr. Echolls? I hardly think this is yours to begin with. You need to get in the shower." He walked around Logan to place the album on the dresser with the empty glass.

"_We're finished with the investigation," Deputy Sacks said, unlocking the apartment, "And as far as we know, she isn't coming back. Either way, the rent hasn't been paid, so it isn't technically hers anymore. Take what you like and the rest will go to goodwill."_

_The group stood in the living room, a place where each of them had been countless times. It felt empty now. "This is stupid," Wallace said, grabbing a cardboard box off of the coffee table._

_Logan followed his action, grabbing a box himself before storming down the short hallway to her bedroom. As if it were his own room, he grabbed the screwdriver from her pen holder on the desk and continued to the air vent in the corner._

_Depending on the contents, he would know if she planned on returning or if she had truly run away. Logan made quick work of removing the pair of screws holding the metal front to the wall before tossing it to the floor with a loud clang._

"_What are you doing?" Piz asked, causing Logan to turn around. Piz had joined him in the bedroom along with Wallace and Mac, who had equally confused expressions. Apparently Veronica had never shared with them the 09er hiding place. He smiled to himself at the realization. "Should I grab a hammer and start smashing walls?" Piz continued, looking around the room._

"_Man, calm down. I'm sure Logan has his reasons," Wallace said, placing himself between Piz and Logan. He shook his head; there would always be things between Veronica and Logan that no one else could touch. Maybe one day Piz would learn to just let it go._

_The tall brunette nodded and pulled the contents of the vent out with one hand. There were only a few things there, but Logan wouldn't know their significance until he looked at them closer. He put them into his box and moved on to her closet._

_Logan made quick work of shoving things aside, looking for specific items that he knew would be in there: memorabilia from when they dated, old photo albums, and a few other things that would have more meaning for him than anyone else in the room. Once he found them, he dumped them into his cardboard box. Assuming she wasn't hiding someplace in that apartment, there was nothing else there that he wanted._

_Giving a quick wave to the other occupants of the room, he picked up his box and left._

With a grumble, Logan allowed himself to be led to the bathroom. He paused in the doorway and turned back to Marcus, "Don't go through any more of my things," he warned and closed the door behind himself.

Marcus brushed it off and began looking through Logan's closet in search of something for him to wear. Logan really was practically his child: if left to his own devices, he would probably wear a wetsuit to every meeting. Satisfied with his choices, he left the room to allow Logan to finish getting ready.

By the time Logan joined him in the kitchen, Marcus was sitting on one of the barstools, finishing his coffee while reading the paper. "The Padres won last night," he announced, setting his empty cup down on the counter before folding over the newspaper, "and the crime rate is down a whole fraction of a percent. One would think with all of this extra time on their hands, the sheriff's department would do something about the homeless population. Speaking of homeless…"

Marcus stood up and fixed his suit jacket before picking his phone up from the counter, "There is a homeless person on your front step again," he continued, "should I call the sheriff? At least this way she will get a bed to sleep on and food to eat for a night."

"Homeless person? What did she look like?" Logan asked, taking a sip of his own coffee to test the temperature.

"Homeless?" Marcus responded, shrugging, "I don't know. Blonde, small, asleep, poor. She's probably still out there if you want to see for yourself. I heard the talks of them wanting to build a wall. I don't think it would be such a terrible idea."

Logan set down his coffee on the counter before rushing to the front door. Marcus followed after him, "Mr. Echolls, really, I can just have the sheriff handle it."

He watched as Logan bent down next to her and brushed her hair out of her face, "Call an ambulance," he ordered before looking up and seeing his waiting car, "Never mind, we'll take that."

He picked her up gently and carried her over to the car, whispering something to her. Marcus quickly followed, closing the car door behind him just as the driver took off. "What is this about?" Marcus demanded.

"How could you leave her out there? Didn't you see that she needed help? For God's sake Marcus, she's barely breathing," Logan yelled at him and pulled her closer to himself, praying that she didn't die in his arms on the way to the hospital.

Marcus opened his mouth to protest but promptly closed it, knowing that anything he said wouldn't change the situation. Instead he began making calls on his phone to reschedule Logan's morning.

* * *

Oh sweet naive Marcus. I just love him to bits sometimes.

And now for my desperate attempt to get everyone to review. See the box. It is a lovely box. But it is hungry. What is the favorite food of the box you might ask? Reviews. So, feed the box. This has been a PSA.

Also, next chapter, although it is technically a Veronica chapter, it is heavily featuring a character that has yet to appear in my story so far and I'm kind of excited about that. Plus ten cookies to anyone who can guess who it is before next week!


	14. Chapter 14

Wow, guys. I am really blown away by the number of reviews for that last chapter. You guys are seriously amazing.

A lot of you guessed Wallace or Mac. I'm surprised. But, one person did get the correct answer, and the cookies are yours to enjoy however you please.

I also wanted to take a quick moment to say Happy Mother's Day to any moms out there who read this. You lovely ladies rock. Enjoy your day. Also the reason I'm posting Saturday night (I get to spend my Mother's Day Sunday with my lovely Grandma).

So, without further ado, Chapter 14.

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Chapter 14:

"Mr. Echolls, I really think we should be going," Marcus said as he joined Logan, who was currently pacing in the waiting room, "They aren't going to tell you anything and you have a full day of meetings, meetings that have been rescheduled several times already."

Logan turned around and looked between the door Veronica went through and Marcus, "I can't just leave her. She came to me for help, I'm not going to let her slip through my fingers again." He ran his hands through his hair for about the hundredth time that morning trying to think of a solution.

"I know. Believe me, I know. If it was my decision, I'd let you stay, but it isn't, and it isn't just your ass on the line. My job is to be the bad guy, to bring you to your meetings even when you don't want to go, and if that means that I have to pick you up and carry you over my shoulder to get you there, then so be it," Marcus lectured, standing firm in front of his client.

Logan slowly exhaled and brought his hands down to his sides, "Just give me a half an hour; let me find someone to be here when she wakes up, okay?"

Marcus looked to the clock on the wall and back to Logan, "I will give you fifteen minutes. Final offer." He pointed behind Logan, to the clock, for emphasis before turning around and walking away.

Logan pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through the contacts, looking for a number he hadn't dialed in years. "Pick up, pick up," he mumbled while he continued his pacing, listening to the ringing.

"What do you want?" the familiar voice grumbled.

"I need a favor," Logan responded in an equally delightful tone. He didn't appreciate asking Weevil for a favor, but he was the only person still in Neptune whose face Veronica wouldn't immediately hate waking up to.

"And I need a million dollars," Weevil responded, "I don't recall owing you any favors."

Again, Logan ran a hand through his hair, "Then don't do it for me, do it for Veronica."

Weevil chuckled, "How much have you had to drink? She left town years ago, man…"

"She came back," Logan interrupted, "This morning. I found her on my doorstep. I just… I have to go into work and I don't want her to be alone."

After a moment, Weevil responded, "Fine," a mix of disgust and disappointment in his voice. Logan sighed and ended the call, knowing that Weevil had every right to hate him at that moment.

By the time Weevil showed up, Logan was long gone. Instead of sitting around the waiting room for a doctor to ignore him, Weevil walked in the staff entrance at the rear. Waiting for him was his sister, Maria, with a visitor's pass. "Do you know how much trouble I could get in for doing this?" she asked him as she handed it over, "I already don't make much as it is. This white girl better be worth it."

Weevil nodded and clipped the badge to his shirt, "She is. She's the one that got me out of jail all those times, and got me a job so I wouldn't end up back there. What can you tell me about her?"

Maria looked to her brother and then down to the file she had taken from the nurses' station, "Veronica Barbara Mars, admitted at 9:13 this morning, unconscious, severely dehydrated, malnourished, high fever. She was prescribed general antibiotics and we're currently waiting on blood results to come back." She flipped a couple of more pages, "Three broken ribs, fractured radius and a dislocated shoulder, broken hand…" Maria continued to rattle off as she flipped a few more pages, "…Also seen in her x-rays is an improperly healed shoulder injury, most likely resulting in restricted movement of her left arm…multiple bruises on the abdomen, arms, and face…." Maria flipped to the last page in the file, "internal bleeding and a few popped stitches on her abdomen, from a recent C-section, though it is a tossup between that and the track marks in her arms that caused the infection. In the few moments she was awake before we put her out she was mumbling in Spanish. Are you sure this is the girl you're thinking of? She sounds more like someone who would help you get into jail than out."

"You know, you should really tell a person to sit down before you read them ten pages of bad news. Is she going to be okay?" Weevil held out a hand to the door to balance himself. What had she gotten herself into?

Maria flipped back through the pages, "She's in surgery right now, it's hard to say. There is one thing that you may be able to help with. Her emergency contact is Keith Mars, but the number listed is not in service, figures since the last time it was updated was 2007, any idea how to reach him?" She looked down at her watch before gesturing that they should walk and talk.

Weevil scratched his bald head and looked down, "He was killed in '07, murdered by her mother. It was all over the papers. You know, the day he became sheriff. Could you put uh…" he thought for a moment. He was certainly in his own right to put himself down as her emergency contact, but Logan would probably kill him later, and the pretty boy was probably paying for her expensive care. "Put Logan Echolls down instead," he said finally, hoping he wouldn't regret it.

They stopped in front of the nurses' station where Maria grabbed a pen and scribbled something onto the chart before closing it and tossing it back into the bin, "She doesn't have a room yet so you can wait here. I get off in about an hour, but I'll have my friend Carla bring you to her when she's out. Please stay out of trouble, Eli." She gave her brother a light hug and a kiss on the cheek before walking away, leaving Weevil to decide if he wanted to inform Logan or not.

He must have started to dial the number only to delete it a hundred times before Carla appeared in the nurses' station, "Eli?" she asked sweetly, "Your friend is out of surgery. She's stable. I can take her to you, if you like." Weevil nodded slowly and followed the nurse through the hospital.

"Best case scenario, she could wake up in a few hours," Carla continued, filling the silence, "It might all depend on how much she wants it. You should talk to her, knowing someone cares could be enough of a push for her to fight back." Carla stopped at a door about halfway down the hall and looked around before opening it. "Well, this is it. I'll be by to check on her later. If she does wake up, push the call button and someone will come in to check on her," the woman advised as Weevil walked into the room. Once she was sure he was settled, she let the door close behind her and walked away.

He took a seat in the chair near her bed and spent a few moments looking her over. In all his years as the leader of a gang, he couldn't recall someone looking as broken as the blonde who lay in the bed in front of him. After a few moments, he leaned forward and took her good hand in between his own.

"Hey, V," Weevil started, deciding where to look when he talked to her. Could she even hear him? "I don't know who did this to you, but I promise that if you stick around town, I will personally make sure that it will never happen again. I got your back, girl."

"You know, Neptune ain't the same place without you, Mars. The Fitzpatricks are walking around like they own the place, buying the sheriff off to look the other way. Meanwhile, just about all the PCHers are doing time for crimes they didn't commit. Anyone outside of the 09er zip code is starving, barely keeping themselves off the street. Hell, those rich dudes built themselves their own schools so they didn't have to mingle with us no more," Weevil explained sadly. Though he didn't always see eye to eye with Sheriff Mars, he respected him. He continued to talk about the changes Neptune had gone through during her absence, hoping that she would realize how desperately the town needed her in it.

Occasionally the doctor would pop his head in, usually leading a trail of interns, to check on her. Weevil would sit there silently and watch, keeping out of his way and listening whenever he had anything to share, but he usually didn't.

Stable. That's the word he kept using over and over again. She's stable. Her vitals are stable. Her condition is stable. "Any change doc?" Weevil asked on the doctor's fourth visit of the day.

He shook his head and looked down at her chart, "No, but before you get discouraged, she's only been out of surgery for a few hours. These things take time. Sometimes no change is a good thing."

Weevil nodded and watched the doctor leave again before reaching over and grabbing the television remote, "Let's see what's happening in the world of Neptune today, shall we?" he asked as he flipped through the stations until he landed on a news channel.

The pair remained like that for hours, watching the news and then a variety of talk shows once the news ended, followed by more news when the talk shows ended. If Weevil was to be honest, he would have to admit that this was the first time in months that he had paid any attention to current events, inside Neptune or otherwise.

By seven, Logan appeared in the doorway carrying a large bag of food with a rather muscular man. Upon taking in the room his face fell. "I was hoping she'd be awake. I brought dinner," he said, gesturing towards the bag, "Oh, and this is my assistant Marcus, Marcus, this is Weevil. How did you get in here, by the way?" Logan asked as he moved into the room.

He put the bag down on the small table and pulled up a second chair, "Have you eaten? I got plenty. Really, there's more than enough for three here," Logan offered.

Weevil helped unpack the bag of food, keeping one eye on Veronica. "My sister, Ria, she's a nurse here. She let me in the back."

Logan nodded and followed Weevil's gaze, his heart dropping to his stomach as he looked her over. "I saw her," Logan began, sitting back in his chair, ignoring the food he brought, "a few days ago in South America. She was right there, in front of me, and I knew something was wrong. I could see it in her eyes. You know, everyone thinks that she's so tough, but if you look into her eyes, you can see the cracks in her façade. I didn't do anything. I believed her lies and walked away."

Marcus looked cautiously over to Logan, ready to step in should the conversation take a negative turn. He watched carefully as Logan attempted to open the plastic covering of his fork, grew frustrated and flung it across the room. "Mr. Echolls," Marcus warned gently.

Weevil tried to hold back a snicker, "So what, is this dude like your keeper? Anytime you step out of line, he pulls back on the leash? Man, you could have really used one of those in high school, huh?"

Logan slammed his hand down on the table causing the dishes to rattle and alerting Marcus, "Strike two. One more, Mr. Echolls and I am taking you home. Do you understand me? You getting upset and throwing things, causing a commotion, aren't going to help Ms. Mars. They will however, draw attention and probably get you kicked out and then you won't be allowed to return."

He nodded and looked between the two men, "Would you mind giving me a minute, _alone_, with her?"

Weevil looked back towards Veronica for a moment before nodding and standing, "I've been here all day. Take your time." He walked to the door and stopped, turning back for a moment, "But if she does wake up, call me."

Logan then focused his attention on Marcus, "Please, like you don't have any errands to run. Do I really need to find something for you to do?" When he still lingered, Logan ran a hand through his hair and shook his head, "I'll behave, I promise. If I don't, you can use the megaphone to wake me up for a month, deal?"

Though Marcus looked hesitant, he nodded and walked away, back towards the waiting room they spent so much time in that morning. There was no way he was leaving Logan alone in the hospital.

Once his assistant was out of sight, Logan pulled the curtain closed to give them some privacy. "Veronica," he began, taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to her. He slowly reached out his hand to brush her hair out of her face, afraid that touching her might cause more pain. "I'm so sorry. I was right there. I should have tried harder. I should have…" he trailed off, thinking of everything he could have done differently.

He noticed the dark bags under her eyes and decided it was probably for the best that she was out cold. His eyes traveled down to her hand, bandaged, arms bruised. Logan knew this type of beating. He was all too familiar with it and Veronica was the last person that he would ever wish this kind of abuse on.

"Do you remember when we were younger and I just moved to Neptune and we didn't know a thing about each other, but you were nice to me anyway? You had no idea that I was the son of the Oscar winning Aaron Echolls and you still sat down next to me in the cafeteria at school when everyone else thought I was weird for wearing a sweater in the summer?" Logan asked, rubbing his thumb over her uninjured hand, "The other kids started teasing you too, but you didn't care. You were going to sit with me. That's when I knew that Veronica Mars is a force to be reckoned with."

"You're the strongest person I've ever met. You have to get through this, okay? For me, because I can't take losing another friend. Not like this," he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly before standing. Behind him he heard the curtain open and the footsteps of two people enter. Weevil took the chair near Veronica's bed, nodding at Logan that he was ready to take over for the night shift. Logan gave him a light smile and allowed Marcus to lead him from the hospital.

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It's Weevil! I actually super like Weevil. So, enjoy the cookies.

Also, review. Please? I know Veronica chapters aren't as popular, but hang tight, because we're moving along. I promise. I have big things in store. Seriously. Thank you so much for your continued support.

Review! Haha. Have a good week lovelies.


	15. Chapter 15

So you guys are absolutely wonderful. I know it is really hard to like Veronica right now, but trust me, things are going to get better. I love your reviews, I read every last one of them (sometimes more than once cause you guys are amazing).

Also, a huge thank you to my betas, because without them this would not be possible (and I'm sorry I forget to thank you in every chapter. I'm a terrible person).

This one is a Logan chapter. Yay. Everyone loves a Logan chapter.

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Chapter 15:

Marcus slowly turned the key and pushed the door open, bracing himself for the worst. When he had brought Logan home the night before, he hadn't been in the best state of mind. He was sure that Logan had drunk himself to sleep after he had gone home for the evening.

He carefully closed the door behind him and went about his normal morning routine as he moved deeper into the house. As he hung Logan's dry cleaning on the banister, he heard a bark come from the kitchen: Dick. Logan must have forgotten to feed him again.

Upon reaching the kitchen, however, Marcus almost jumped out of his skin at the sight of Logan standing in the kitchen, awake, without the slightest hint of a hangover. "Smoothie?" he asked, holding out a glass.

The sight of Logan standing half-naked in the kitchen, offering him a beverage was a new one. Although he had made it a personal rule to never look at clients in _that_ way, he couldn't help but notice just how the remaining droplets dripped from the ends of his hair before making their way down Logan's toned chest. By no means was Logan a body builder, but he did take care of himself. Marcus jumped at the sound of Logan clearing his throat.

He pinched himself to be sure he wasn't dreaming before checking to make sure he had remembered pants: he always seemed to forget pants in his dreams. "Are you okay?" Logan asked, still holding out the glass.

"Uh, yeah, just fine. I wasn't expecting you to be awake so early," Marcus responded, taking the drink before taking a seat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

"Right, well I'm going to go hop in the shower," Logan gestured towards the direction of the bathroom, and Marcus realized for the first time that Logan was wearing his wetsuit and gave him a quick nod.

It wasn't long before Logan returned showered, shaved, and wearing the suit that Marcus had brought over that morning. "So," he said, rubbing his hands together, "I was hoping that if we got through these meetings early, I could go spend some time with Veronica before visiting hours are over?"

Marcus finished the surprisingly delicious smoothie Logan had prepared for him and set the glass down on the counter. Suddenly everything made sense. "You do realize that in order for your meetings to go quickly, that means you need to stop fighting with everyone at every meeting. You can't call people morons or push every button in the elevator, you can't hide from secretaries that you've screwed to get meetings with their bosses or stop to flirt with every pretty girl you pass on the street," Marcus warned, spouting off a quick list of irritants.

"I don't flirt with _every_ pretty girl," Logan countered, buttoning his suit jacket, "Shall we?"

Marcus nodded and followed Logan out of the house, still a little uncertain. Was all of this really caused by the re-appearance of Veronica? If that was the case, and the publishing company found out, there would be little use left for him.

This theory, however, had yet to be proven in an actual meeting. Luckily for Marcus, their first one that morning was with Mr. Henshley, who had drawn up a few more book cover designs for Logan to look over. Surely this would rile his client up and providing him with job security.

They arrived a shocking fifteen minutes early to the meeting. Logan took a seat in the lobby and began perusing a magazine that had little interest to him. "Mr. Echolls, are you ill?" Marcus finally asked, taking the empty chair next to him.

"Motivated," Logan responded simply, "If I behave, I get to see Veronica." He turned the page casually, as though he was genuinely interested in the magazine in his hands.

Marcus shook his head, "I've tried bribing you before and it's never worked."

Logan smirked, "You do realize I'm a millionaire, right? If I had wanted whatever you were offering, I could go to the dollar store myself and purchase as many as I wanted. There are some things in life that money simply cannot buy."

"Mr. Henshley will see you now," the receptionist called out before Marcus had the chance to ask if Veronica was one of those things. Perhaps when they visited her this afternoon, he could ask Weevil what their story was.

The pair walked down the familiar hallway to the conference room, where the artist was waiting, "I knew you'd be back," he greeted with a chuckle and handshakes. "Go ahead, take a look at these designs, keep an open mind." Logan went up to the easels as Marcus looked hesitantly on.

The first design was out. There was no redeeming it. Logan simply turned it around and said nothing as he moved on to the other two. He stood between them for several moments, a finger on his chin, as he looked back and forth.

Finally, he turned around and grabbed a marker from the table. "Mr. Echolls," Marcus warned, remembering how this ended the last time. However, instead of Logan tearing everything apart, he walked up to the simple design one and began writing.

"This one isn't bad, it reminds me of the classics. Those are books that are so well written and so well known that they can get away with having a completely blank cover and people will still pick them up and buy them. However, I don't think we're quite there yet with the _Galleon Lochs_ brand, so we need a little something," Logan explained and stepped aside from the mock up. "I get where you're coming from with the boats, Mr. Henshley, but, this story is about a girl in a lake, sailboats on the ocean don't really fit, but maybe a nice sketch outline of a lake, across the cover like this," he pointed to what he had drawn on the cover, "with a barn somewhere along the shore would fulfill your need to tie in an aquatic theme to my book and be just enough to get new readers to pick up the book. Keep the title simple, no special fonts, and instead of white, let's make the background more of an ecru, give it an aged feel."

He capped the pen as he moved around to the other side of the table to view his handiwork. Logan had never been an artist, but his few lines on the board served their purpose well enough. "The only thing that should be in color is the red of the barn, put it in a focal point and make it really stand out."

Marcus gave him a curious glance as he took the chair next to him. In the several years that he had known the young man, he had never seen him so on the ball, not even on his best day.

_He sat in the large conference room with a dozen or so other applicants who had responded to the ad looking for a personal assistant. Never in a million years would he have ever pictured himself as an assistant, but with the economy what it was, beggars can't be choosers._

_A dark-haired man in a gray suit stepped in front of the drop down screen, "Welcome, welcome," he began with a warm smile, "Thank you all for coming and making it to the final round of the interview process. We have asked you all here today to help you get to know the client on a more personal level."_

_The second interviewer stepped closer to the first. He smoothed his blonde hair and straightened his silver-rimmed glasses before pulling a small remote from his pocket. "What you are about to see are video clips from building security footage of the client attending various meetings in the past year."_

_As the lights dimmed, he pressed a button on his remote and stepped aside to view the footage with the potential employees. On the screen appeared the client, face blurred to protect his identity, sitting in a meeting. It seemed normal enough, until he stood and threw his drink at the wall before gesturing wildly. Either the audio had also been removed to protect the client's identity, or the security camera didn't record it, but the room was silent as the group watched the clip._

_A few clips later and several of the applicants began to file out of the room, realizing that they were in over their heads. When the client wasn't screaming in a drunken rage, he was slamming doors and walking away. On the one such occasion that he made it on to a talk show, it was a complete disaster. Compared to the war in the Middle East, a writer with a bad attitude and a slight drinking problem was child's play._

_By the time the first man turned the lights back on, the number of applicant's in the room had shrunk to a third. The pair took their place in front of the screen again, looking at the remaining few. "Just to be clear, he isn't always like that," the dark-haired man chuckled, "when he's having a good day, it is a __**good**__ day. The client is known to be charming, insightful, and a fountain of wonderful ideas. Ideas so brilliant that he was able to self-publish his first novel and have it reach the number one position on the New York Times bestseller list. Since then, the company has acquired his talent and believes that he is one of the best writers that they have seen in a long time, possibly ever. Thus they feel it is worth it to ensure that the client is having a good day, every day."_

_The second man began passing around the prepared materials on the client. "We have prepared an in-depth background on the client for your perusal. An overview can be found on page two," he said as he switched over his prepared presentation. "Our client is the child of two Hollywood actors…"_

"Let's keep the back blank except for the lake, it builds intrigue," Logan said, taking the bottle of water Mr. Henshley's assistant offered. Marcus' jaw just about fell to the floor: good ideas and choosing water over alcohol? Did he go to the wrong house this morning? "I want the synopsis and endorsements on the inner jacket, same plain font as the title. When we go paperback, they should be removed," he took a drink before putting the bottle on the table, "unless we happen to get a short, but stellar quote, then it can go high on the back, no more than one line. The inner book should be the same ecru with a red spine to match the barn."

Marcus watched Mr. Henshley scribbling notes as Logan spoke. "We can do that," he said, looking up from his pad of paper, "I will have my people draw up a mock up and we can meet again sometime next week."

"Sounds good, I will have my people call your people with my availability," Logan smiled and looked at Marcus before standing to shake Mr. Henshley's hand. They were in and out in record time.

After their third successful back to back meeting, Logan was finally finished for the day. "Would you like to do lunch?" Marcus asked, looking at his watch. It was hours before he had predicted they would finish.

"Mind if we take it to go? I want to see if she's doing any better today; give Weevil a break since I'm sure he has…_things_ to do," Logan responded, sliding into the car. "Or maybe you could drop me off and then go get food? If she's awake, she's going to be starving. Veronica can eat her weight in lasagna if you'd let her."

Marcus nodded and joined Logan in the car before tapping on the divider to tell the driver where to go. The pair was silent for the rest of the trip there, Logan lost in hope about Veronica's condition and Marcus collecting his thoughts about the situation.

"Any change?" Logan asked upon entering the hospital room to see Weevil relaxed in the chair next to Veronica's bed.

He shook his head, "If there was, I would have called you. The doctor keeps telling me these things take time and some bullshit about stable. You gonna be here for a while? There are some things that I need to take care of."

Logan nodded and took the chair vacated by Weevil as he moved toward the exit. However, he didn't get very far when Marcus stopped him in the lobby. "Do you have a minute?" he asked, stepping closer to the wall for a bit more privacy.

"Listen, if you need someone to rough your boy Echolls up, I'm not your man anymore. I'm a law abiding citizen now," Weevil responded proudly, looking Marcus up and down.

Holding back a laugh, Marcus shook his head, "Actually, I was wondering if you knew anything about Mr. Echolls' relationship with uh… Veronica?"

It was Weevil's turn to laugh, "Who doesn't? Honestly, I'm surprised that it has taken this long for her to show up back in town."

"Me. I don't. Care to elaborate?" Marcus inquired, looking around in the off chance Logan had decided to leave the room and interrupt their conversation.

"I've haven't always been the guy's biggest fan, but I know deep down, he really does care about her. In middle school, they were friends, Logan, Veronica, Duncan, Lilly; they called themselves the fab four, and when Lilly died, things kind of fell apart. Then Mrs. Echolls threw herself off a bridge and suddenly they were pals again, or should I say more than pals," Weevil explained, gesturing towards the chairs near the windows for them to sit before he continued, elaborating on the various break ups and make ups of one of Neptune's most notorious couples, with a slight bias against the golden boy. He never had been a fan of Logan dating Veronica. "Then, the day the sheriff was killed, V practically died with him. No one saw her or heard from her after that. At some point she just packed her bags and skipped town."

"You know," Weevil continued, looking at the clock on the wall, realizing that he spent more time than he would have ever cared to discussing Logan and Veronica's relationship, "V used to say that the hero is the one who stays. Usually, it was in reference to her dad, because her mom left, but now that I think of it, that could be why Logan never skipped town: on some level he's always wanted to be her hero."

Marcus nodded and watched him leave. Perhaps this friend of Veronica's wasn't the most reliable source in town. He witnessed Logan enter and end several relationship during his time as his assistant; none of them ever seemed to faze his client. How much more damage could this tiny blonde do?

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Oh sweet naive Marcus, underestimating V's power over Logan.

So, the next chapter is a Veronica chapter, but it is a little different. I enjoyed writing it and I hope you will enjoy reading it and that it answers a few of your questions. Maybe.

Also, review. Please? Pretty please? *inserts Veronica pout face* Resistance is futile, my friends.


	16. Chapter 16

So, just a quick note, the italics are more so dreams that Veronica is having while she is unconscious. Normally I use italics to represent flashbacks, but today they are not. Well, part of the dreams may be memories and I think you can pick out which parts. Hopefully.

As always, thank you to my wonderful betas for making this happen. You guys are lovely.

Also, I'm sorry for getting this out so late. I've just been super busy and I will try to be better. I promise.

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Chapter 16:

"_Gabriel, Leja, let's go, we're going to be late," Veronica called as she finished dishing eggs onto the waiting plates containing the rest of their breakfast. She turned and dropped the pan into the sink before checking her watch. Why couldn't they ever get out of the house on time?_

_As she moved the plates to the table she stumbled over something on the floor and struggled to remain upright. By some miracle, Veronica didn't land face first in the breakfast she had just spent time preparing and was able to place the dishes on the table before looking back at what tripped her up. "PIZ!" she called out, noticing it was his gym bag in the middle of her kitchen floor. Annoyed, she picked the bag up and stormed to the front door, throwing it out onto the lawn._

_He came down the stairs, half dressed, confused, rubbing a towel over his head, "What's wrong, love?"_

"_How many times have I told you to not call me that?" Veronica seethed, "I don't care how many of them you interview on your little radio show, you're not a British pop star!"_

_Piz shrugged and draped the towel over the banister, "What's wrong, Veronica?"_

"_I almost tripped and fell over your damn gym bag in the kitchen! You're as bad as the kids. No wonder they leave their stuff everywhere, because Daddy doesn't clean up after himself either," she waved her arms for emphasis before marching over to the bottom of the stairs and calling up for their children again, "Gabriel, Leja, breakfast, NOW!" Noticing the towel, she picked it up and threw it at him before returning to the kitchen. Some days she felt more like a zookeeper than a wife and mother._

_Piz followed her, taking a seat at the table and stealing a piece of bacon off of one of the plates as Veronica scrubbed the pan, "Are you stressed about work? I can take the kids out to ice cream later to give you some alone time."_

"_Yes, please, get them hyped up on sugar before I put them to bed and you have to do the night shift at the radio station, that would be a huge help," her voice dripped with sarcasm. She put the pan in the drying rack and wiped her hands on the dishrag. Finally the children appeared, dropping their soccer bags on the floor where their father's gym bag sat moments ago before taking seats at the kitchen table to inhale their breakfast._

_Veronica sighed and tossed the dishrag onto the counter, "I think maybe we're going to stay at my dad's tonight, I just need some time."_

"_Veronica…" Piz drew out her name in a long whine, "Don't be like that. You know, your dad isn't going to be around forever for you to constantly run to. Don't you think it is about time for you to grow up and face your problems?"_

_Aware of her children eating breakfast in the same room, Veronica sought to control her anger. "I don't have __**problems**__," she hissed through closed teeth, "I have __**you**__!" She quickly focused her attention away from Piz and onto Gabriel and Leja, "Time to go, grab your bags and get in the van, and if you're really good, after your game, we'll go and see grandpa!"_

_Gabriel and Leja cheered and collected their things from the floor before racing out the door as nothing more than two dark-haired blobs. If anyone thought it was bizarre that the couple had produced two Hispanic children, they didn't say anything about it. Veronica gave Piz one final glare before grabbing her keys from the counter and following the children out the door._

_At the park, most of the other children and their parents already arrived. Looking up at the crowded stands, Veronica finally found an empty seat and began making her way towards it. She looked at the gentleman sitting next to her and smiled before pulling her laptop out of her bag._

_When she signed the children up for soccer, she promised she would be at every game. However, that promise also meant that some games just needed to be worked though. This happened to be one of those games._

_As the game continued, she was well aware of how many times the man sitting next to her stood to cheer. "Adrian, would you mind sitting still for a little while, I'm trying to work. You know how important this is to me," Veronica asked, trying to focus her attention on her computer._

"_So this is what is important to you?" he asked, reaching into his jacket pocket, "Finding the name of some man who is having an affair? What about Alejandra? She scored six goals today. Why isn't she important?"_

_Veronica let out a ragged breath and looked past her laptop screen, "You're right. Leja is important too. I should be paying more attention to her; Gabriel also."_

"_No," Adrian said sternly, "You made your choice. This is your fault." He pulled his hand out of his pocket to reveal a gun. She immediately recognized the gun: the silver revolver his grandfather had given him for his birthday. It was a family heirloom. Adrian held his arm straight and took aim, firing a single shot with a loud bang._

_Veronica watched as Leja fell to the ground in the middle of the soccer game. Fighting her way through the mass of people filling the stand, she ran for the field, needing to get to Leja. "Remember, you did this," she heard Adrian's voice call from behind her as the world started to fade away._

_All that was left was Leja, lying on the fresh-cut grass of the soccer field, her blue uniform slowly turning scarlet from her blood. Putting pressure on the wound, she looked down at her child, slowly slipping from her fingers. Again. Why was this happening?_

_Behind her, Veronica heard coughing. Slowly looking up, she saw Gabriel stumbling towards them, barely able to breathe. Taking her hands off of Leja, only for a second, she checked on Gabriel._

_His coughing continued until he too was on the ground, slowly fading away, unable to breathe. Veronica watched his lips turn blue and the light disappear from his eyes, kneeling helplessly inches from his body. She stretched her arm out but was unable to reach him as a small cry escaped her lips._

"_Hey!" another voice called, causing her to look up from Gabriel, "Hey, are you all right? That was a nasty fall! I can't believe she kicked you in the shin like that. What a bitch!"_

_Veronica's vision focused on the young man running towards her. He offered his hand to help her up, which she gladly took, suddenly realizing how much pain her left leg was in. Looking down, she couldn't help but notice she was twelve years old again, wearing her Neptune Middle soccer uniform. Confused, she looked back towards her savior, "I'm Veronica," she introduced as he helped her onto the bench._

"_Logan," he replied, shaking her hand and offering a full smile, "I just moved in today, actually. I needed some air and I wound up here. Do you need ice or something for that?" He bent down and carefully rolled down her knee-high sock to get a better look at the wound._

"_Madison," Veronica grumbled under her breath, looking down at her leg._

"_You're naming it Madison?" Logan questioned, looking up into her blue eyes._

_She shook her head, strands of loose hair flying, "Oh, no," she chuckled, bringing a hand to her mouth to hide her laughter, "Madison is the one who kicked me. Apparently it doesn't matter that we're on the same team."_

"_Oh," Logan responded, shifting his lanky body onto the bench next to her. "Next time, you should kick her back twice as hard," he laughed, watching her watch the rest of her team finish the game._

"_Oh, there's my mom," Veronica pointed to a blonde woman standing across the field, "I should probably go. I won't be playing the rest of this game anyway." She started to stand and immediately fell back onto the bench. Logan chuckled and stood, offering her his hand to assist her across the field._

_When they reached the other side, he deposited Veronica into her mother's waiting arms. "Will I see you Monday, at school?" he asked hopefully._

_Veronica nodded and smiled as a warm feeling filled her body, "See you Monday!" She had just made a new friend._

"Veronica," Logan started, lightly squeezing her hand, "I… I'm sorry. I should have noticed what he was doing to you. Me, of all people, should have known. I didn't and I left you there and I'm sorry." He leaned back in the chair and massaged the bridge of his nose with his free hand, keeping the other entwined with hers.

Hearing the knock on the door, he quickly sat up and offered a slight smile to one of the doctors who had been monitoring her progress for the past few days, "Any news?" he asked hopefully as the balding man approached the bed.

"No change. It's a good sign that she isn't on a ventilator, though. Her brain scans also look good. Perhaps rest is the best thing for her right now," he said, flipping through the pages on her chart before pulling a pen from his pocket and making a note of her vitals from the machines, nodding at each one. "I'll check back in an hour, give you two some time," he said, turning around and heading back out the door.

"_Mars," she answered her phone, slipping it between her ear and shoulder as she slid out of bed and began searching for her pants._

"_Collins," the other occupant of the bed mirrored her actions. He shifted his phone to his other ear as he threw her pants to her. Technically the Bureau frowned on fraternization, however, neither one of them had ever been known to follow the rules._

_Veronica removed the white dress shirt from the lampshade and tossed it to her partner as she listened to the details of their latest case. "Uh huh," she confirmed the details, "Fifth and Queen, got it. I'll be there in fifteen."_

_Quickly she searched for the rest of her wardrobe, making her way out of the bedroom and into the living room where they had blown through in a tornado of clothing only hours before. "Ready?" Collins asked her as he ran his fingers through his short, brown hair to flatten it from their previous activities. He walked into the bathroom and pulled out the bottle of mouthwash, taking a swig of it before holding it out to her as she passed on her way back to the bedroom. Perhaps she should start keeping clothes here then she wouldn't need to relocate the ones she had been wearing._

_Though, keeping clothes at his place would mean making a step towards relationship territory, and they were __**not**__ in a relationship. They had just found an outlet for all of the stress and frustration that their job brought. "Two seconds," Veronica responded before taking a swig of the mouthwash and grabbing his hairbrush off of the dresser._

_She carefully pulled her hair into an elastic before moving to the sink to spit the mouthwash. "You're driving, I need to fix my makeup in the car," she informed him as she grabbed her purse from the couch._

"_What will we tell them when they ask why we showed up together at…" he looked down at his watch to check the time, "Three-thirty in the morning?"_

"_Car trouble?" she shrugged, "We all know my old junk bucket isn't what she used to be, unlike your reliable government-issued SUV with the flashy lights." Collins laughed and followed her out the door, making sure to lock it behind them._

_They arrived on the scene of a car accident. "That kind of looks like your car," Collins joked as they got out of his SUV and walked over to the debris. There were pieces of car scattering the road, some of them belonging to the old silver car that came to a stop against a tree, the rest belonging to the red car a few yards away. Maybe even a few from the parked cars that lined the street._

_Paramedics surrounded a body on the ground, performing CPR and checking vitals. "Looks like someone was okay enough to run," she said, gesturing towards the open doors of the car._

"_I'll radio it in to the hospitals. Keep an eye out for anyone who looks like they've been in a terrible accident, run the plates and see if we can narrow down who we're looking for," Collins pulled out his cell phone, "Why don't you go see if the medics found an I.D. on that guy?"_

_Veronica walked over to the group of paramedics and bent down to talk to them. The guy was in pretty bad shape. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up, "We have to go," a man said, pointing behind him, "the police will be here any minute."_

"_We-we can't just leave him; he needs help," she argued back, looking down at the injured man, not a single paramedic in sight. Her brain commanded her hands to apply pressure to his wounds but they would not comply._

"_Nicki…" he breathed, putting a hand on her shoulder. She nodded and took a deep breath before standing. She began walking with him, limping really, before turning back. "What are you doing?" he asked._

_She bent down and carefully reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet, "I'm sorry," she whispered, knowing her actions were probably causing him more pain. Veronica stood and turned back, opening it as she re-joined him, "I took his I.D. It could buy us some time to get away. If they don't know who he is, they won't know who we are."_

_Veronica opened the wallet and pulled out the plastic driver's license. The man from the ground's smiling face stared back at her as she read his details._

_**Angel Iliado**_

_**Sex: M DOB: 2/13/1988**_

_**Eyes: Brown Hair: Brown**_

_**Weight: 175 lbs Height 6'0"**_

_**Organ Donor**_

_The glare of the sirens grew louder and he pulled on her arm, "Let's go!" Adrian called, kicking it to a run._

"_He was your brother!" she sobbed, partially from loss and partially from the pain that shot through her body. Looking down, she noticed just how badly she had damaged her knee. Adrian waited a few paces allowing her to catch up before putting his arm around her waist and helping her hobble down the street as she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth._

_Slowly her gait became more natural and the feeling of someone aiding her melted away. "Wanna race?" a male voice called from behind her. Veronica opened her eyes. She wasn't at the scene of an accident; she was at Neptune High School. Behind her was Logan, quickening his pace catching up with her, looking equally ridiculous in his Neptune High gym uniform as she did._

_She laughed, "You do realize that I've been playing soccer since I was six, right? I could run circles around you."_

"_Not with those little legs," he smiled and thought for a moment, "How about we make this interesting? If I win, you can't talk to Duncan for the entire lunch period. It will drive him crazy to think he did something wrong, and if you win… you can pick my punishment," he said, keeping in step with her. He could have ran by himself, finished the mile in decent time and spent the rest of class milling about on the bleachers, but this was more fun._

_She thought about it for a moment and accepted his challenge, "You're on!" However, she only increased her pace slightly._

"_You didn't say what my punishment would be if I lost, or are you that confident that I'll win?" he asked, adjusting his gait to keep up._

_Veronica shrugged, "I'll have to talk to Lilly about that," she winked and again picked up the pace. _

"I think she's opening her eyes!" Logan called out, watching Veronica's eyelids flutter.

Marcus flipped the page in his magazine and casually looked over the top of the page, "Mr. Echolls, the doctor told you that REM is perfectly normal. You've called the poor man in here six times already because you thought she was waking up. He has other patients."

"But her hand moved this time," Logan objected, looking down at the sleeping blonde. Despite all of her injuries, she looked so peaceful asleep; her blonde hair framing her head like a golden halo.

"Muscle spasms are also normal. Did you not listen to a word that the doctor said?" Marcus sighed and rested the magazine on his lap, "I know you want her to wake up. When she's ready, she will."

Logan laughed causing Marcus to give him a 'have you lost your mind' look. "You don't know her," Logan explained, "but you're exactly spot on. She will wake up when _she's_ ready."

"_What is the name of that movie we're going to see?" Veronica asked as she collected her notepad and pen to put into her bag. It was impolite to bring a laptop to the theatre._

_James, her long-time live-in boyfriend and editor, scrolled through his phone for the details, "Death is Becoming," he read before putting it into his pocket. He moved to the counter and began searching through the stack of junk for his press pass. "Honestly, these indie films are getting weirder every year. It's like we're a nation fascinated by blood and gore. Don't get enough of that on the news every day? Just once I'd like to be invited to a movie that makes me think," he rambled as he shifted the papers around._

"_Working title?" she suggested, checking her bag for her own press pass. "Maybe it won't be terrible. Gosh, do you remember last month when we saw Peace, Love and Daisies? Now that was a misleading title. I don't think that will be coming to a theatre near you anytime soon," Veronica laughed at the thought of the movie. It was nothing but shoddy camera work and a confused American soldier who only spoke French for reasons still unknown._

"_Okay, you're right. Nothing can be worse than that. Honestly, I think you were a little too nice in your review of it," James responded, holding back his laughter. "If it were me, I would have made absolutely sure that that movie never saw the light of day again." Finally, he found the small badge and clipped it to his jacket for safe-keeping._

_Veronica slung her bag over her shoulder, standing from the couch, "It's a beautiful night tonight. Do you want to walk to the theatre? We could have a glass of wine at Mario's on our way back if it is truly terrible."_

"_Already ahead of you, darling," he said, tapping against the breast pocket of his jacket. Whenever James predicted the event of the evening to go terribly, which was often lately, he would bring his flask along to take the edge off. It seemed more now than ever, everyone thought they were an artist, and as a result, a lot of garbage was reaching the mainstream. As the editor of the Lifestyle section of the paper, it was his job to knock them down a few pegs: the world could always use more fry cooks._

_He held out his arm for her to take and led her from their cozy apartment out the door. The theatre was only a few blocks away. It was one of the many perks of living in the Entertainment District downtown. There was always a gallery opening, play, or independent film just minutes from their front door._

_As members of the press, they had reserved seats in the middle of the cinema, best seats in the house. Of course, arriving late sometimes made it difficult to get to said seats. Veronica didn't have nearly as much trouble as James weaving her way through the already seated patrons. "Nice crowd," she commented as they finally sat down._

"_Poor people just wasted their money, if you ask me," James responded, pulling his flask and taking a drink. "What do you say this time? A drink for every mis-translated subtitle?"_

"_I hope it's in Korean," she responded, leaning back into her seat. Sometimes he could be such a smart-ass._

"_I will give you a thousand dollars if it is in Korean," he said, raising his flask to her in a mock toast._

_After a round of shushes from the other moviegoers as the theatre went dark, the movie began. The audience quickly realized that this was actually a silent film and the shushing was irrelevant. "You know," Veronica whispered, leaning closer to James, "they could very well be speaking Korean for all we know."_

"_They could also be speaking English or Farsi for as much as you know," he responded, "Maybe they're mutes."_

_The moderately happy storyline quickly turned dark when an old woman tripped and fell down a flight of stairs, "She reminds me of my Grandma Faye…" Veronica commented to no one in particular as she watched the Grim Reaper take the old woman away._

_A few scenes later a blonde woman came out waving a gun at a middle-aged balding man. "Dad! No!" Veronica called out, recognizing the man on the screen as her father, the woman as her mother._

_She tore her eyes away from the screen, dropping her notepad and pen on the floor as she buried her face into James's chest. How could someone make a movie of this? Her small body shook as the gunshots rang out._

_Of course. The only sound in the "silent" movie would be the sound of gunshots. She began sobbing uncontrollably, crying out, until she felt a strong hand start rubbing circles on her back. "Ronnie," he called, "Ronnie, wake up, it's only a dream."_

_Slowly opening her eyes to allow them to adjust to the light, she looked around. She wasn't in a movie theatre anymore; she was in the penthouse of the Neptune Grand. Beside her in the bed was Logan, concern etched deep into his features. "Hey," he said, his eyes brightening as he watched her stir._

"_Sorry," she croaked, realizing her throat was dry and sore. He passed her a glass of water, which she readily took as she sat up in bed._

"_You're safe now," he said, pulling her a little closer to himself, "Whatever it was, you're safe now."_

_She passed him back the empty glass and took a deep breath, "I had another dream about that night I thought Bea—Cassidy blew up the plane my dad was on. I just, I don't know what I would do if something ever happened to him."_

_It had only been a few weeks since that night, their first together. Normally she would send him a casual text, asking him if he was still awake, maybe a phone call, but he knew. Tonight only confirmed it. "Nothing is going to happen to him, but if it does, you have me. You'll always have me. I love you, Veronica." Slowly she allowed herself to re-enter dreamland in the safety of his arms._

With a pounding in her head, Veronica slowly opened her eyes and looked around. The room was dark, but definitely a hospital. "_Enfermera_" she croaked out, not realizing how dry her throat was. How long had she been asleep?

"_Enfermera_" she tried again, with less force, slumber threatening to reclaim her.

The man snoozing in the chair next to her bed stirred, drawing her attention. Carefully she shifted her head to the side. Veronica watched him sit up straight as his eyes focused on hers. "_Enfermera?_" he repeated, shaking his head and standing up. He began walking towards the door but stopped and turned back towards her, "I'll be right back. _Estaré de vuelta._" Then, he left the room.

She struggled to keep her eyes open until he returned, but sleep once again claimed her.

* * *

She's finally awake! Sort of.

Reviews are lovely. They keep me writing. Which I should get back to doing. Next chapter is Logan, so how will he react to Veronica being awake? Maybe this is finally a Veronica chapter that everyone likes?

So, until next time, feel free to pull apart what is memory and what is dream. Cookies to anyone who thinks they know what happened.

Also, Happy Memorial Day!


	17. Author's Note

Hello Marshmallows,

I'm so sorry I haven't updated. I have been thinking about this story a lot and I've decided I am going to put this on hiatus for a little while. No worries, I will continue it. I promise. There are a few plot points that I want to rework and I have been getting behind on my chapters. As much as I hate to do this, I want to give you my best, and I do not feel that I have been doing that lately.

See you in a few weeks!


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